Expiation Part I
by Rosettaston3
Summary: H&R. Takes place in the current season,9, but it's the PAST that Ruth and Harry must deal with if they are to have any hope of a future together.
1. Chapter 1

This takes place in season 9; however, it's what came BEFORE that drives this fic.

**Summary: Poor Ruth! She's clearly not herself. Can Harry save her from herself? **

**Thanks for reading; I welcome ALL reviews. **

**This chapter has just been reposted as I had technical problems. (Translation: I accidentally deleted this chapter!) **

****Disclaimer** Of course, these characters belong to Kudos, not me. (**_**AH...but if they did….. :-)**_

**Part I: **Expiation

Harry glances at the small clock on his desk. Round, brass, with Roman numerals, it is a gift from Catherine as a young girl. But this time as he gazes at it, his thoughts are not on his daughter, nor how his relationship with her—although better now than in the past—could improve even more. Instead, his thoughts are on Ruth.

It's 7:59, yet she is not at her desk.

His stomach clenches even as he sternly reminds himself that technically she is not late; her day begins at 8:00. But Ruth is rarely late; if anything, she is early. By this time, in fact, she is usually at her desk, sipping her tea, opening her email, headset on, and smiling at her colleagues. Most importantly, she'll soon glance his way, and if he's lucky, they'll catch one another's eye. And when they do, she rewards him with her gentle smile.

_That's the way it's supposed to_ be, thinks Harry. If all's right with his world- _that's how it's supposed to be. _

But not today.

Today, none of that is going on. He sighs, and glances at the small cabinet in the corner of his office wondering if it's too early for a drink. He forces himself to look away, reminding himself that there' a myriad of perfectly legitimate reasons why Ruth is still not in: _the tube, the bus, the weather…_

Except…the last time she was "late"—or rather did not show up at all those years ago, she was tied to her banister-while he simply thought that she was ill…_and look what almost…._his phone rings, and he swivels to pick it up, turning his back to the glass and his view to her desk.

"Hello? He barks into the phone. The person on the other end hesitates before speaking. _It's not her_, he thinks, when she does speak. He's not sure if this is a good thing—or not.

"Yes, yes, that's fine, he tells the assistant to the Home Secretary. "Today's fine. 13:00." He glances at the lock_: 8:05._ "That'll be fine," he repeats almost testily, before hanging up. Swiveling back, he checks the glass once more.

His relief is palpable.

Ruth is sitting in her chair, pushing it closer to her desk –in her characteristic way, of course. He smiles and watches as she rocks her body forwards until the wheels obey— moving jerkily along— until bit by bit, she is soon tucked under her desk.

He's still smiling and waits for that exquisite moment when she will pick her head up from her keyboard and see him. _Look up, Ruth._

Before she does so, his phone rings again, and this time he answers it quickly and almost warmly.

"Harry Pearce." He listens for a moment, and then picks up a piece of paper from his desk. "Yes, I have it right here… In fact, GCHQ—"

He senses rather than actually hears something amiss. Picking his head up from the paper, he looks through the glass: there's a flurry of activity around Ruth's desk. He cranes his neck better to see, no longer hearing the other end of the phone conversation. His view, though, is partially blocked: Lucas, Beth and Tariq are crowded around her. "_Move, dammit. _As if they hear him, they part and instantly_, _he knows that something _is_ wrong.

"I must call you back," he says, hanging up the phone.

He moves with unusual grace for a stocky man; in seconds, he is out of his chair, and mere feet from _her._

"What is it?" he asks. Lucas's lean body is crouched down next to Ruth, one hand on her shoulder.

At the sound of Harry's voice, she tries to straighten up. "Keep your head down, Lucas says, gently pushing her head down. "Tariq, he instructs the young man, "Get her some water."

Tariq moves and when he does, Harry can see that Ruth's is all but slumped in her chair, her head hanging down. "What happened?" Harry repeats.

"I'm ok, "she says, weakly, and again tries to pick up her head.

"Just keep it down, Ruth, "Lucas instructs her. "Let the blood flow—"

"—Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

The room gets very quiet.

"She fainted—or almost did," Beth tells Harry.

"—Which is why," Lucas adds, "I want her to keep her head down."

"I feel better now," Ruth says. Despite Lucas's advice, she picks her head up slowly and catches Harry's eye. He manages to keep his face impassive despite the way she looks. Her lovely face is leached of all color; her ice blue eyes the only splash of color there.

"Ruth, "he says softly, all but pushing Lucas out of the way, "What is it?"

"I'm fine, just a little… wobbly. I'll. ..be fine…"

"Can you stand?" He asks, and without waiting for an answer, puts his arm around her and helps her up. "Lucas, let's bring her into my office. "

"Harry…no..I just …" but she doesn't protest further as the two men flank her and practically carry her, maneuvering her into Harry's office.

Gently, Harry sets her down on the small couch there and sits next to her. "Where's that boy?" With the water?" He stares at the doorway.

"Harry. I'm fin…"

"You're not, "he says, then turns back to the doorway. "Tariq!" In seconds, Tariq reappears, holding a water bottle. Harry grabs the water bottle from the young man's outstretched hand. "Here," He says to Ruth, twisting the cap off, "drink."

She obeys, taking little sips.

"Should I call a doctor?" He asks her as she looks up.

"God, no, Harry, I just feel…. I'm just a bit… under the weather…that's all."

He takes her hand, and stares at her while she takes some more sips of water. In the silence, Lucas ushers Tariq out of the doorway, sliding the heavy door behind them.

In seconds, Ruth and Harry are alone.

He turns to her, shifting a bit on the small couch. "You're very pale," he says to her softly, examining her face. "Are you sure you don't want me to call a doctor?" His speaks calmly in a soft voice, but the intensity of his gaze belies his controlled demeanor.

"No..I'll be fine…"

"Have you eaten? Perhaps," he adds hopefully, "You've missed breakfast?"

She shrugs. "Not quite…I had a bit of toast."

"Well, then, , perhaps…"

"I'll be fine," she says. "Really." She sits up straighter. "There's been...entirely too much...fuss already." She makes a move to get up.

" Ruth." He places his hand on her shoulder, effectively staying her. "I think you should go home."

"No…I'm—"

"—Don't say you're fine again, Ruth. You're—"

"—Yes, I know…. Pale. But that's no reason for me to –"

"—And you nearly fainted."

"I'll have something to eat, then…and drink tea. With sugar."'

He sighs. " What am I going to do with you?"

"Do? "

"You know...what I mean," he says, his hand still on her shoulder.

His words hang in the air until she twists a bit from under his touch. This time he doesn't stop her. When she does stand up, he does too, staying close to her.

"Be reasonable, Ruth," he says, as they both head for the door." Let Beth take you home, and—"

"—Beth has to leav—"

"—Yes, I know, but not 'till later. The Chinese Embassy –"

"No. Harry…" She shakes her head. There's no reason for –"

"Ruth."

"I'm FINE." She says, again, reaching for the door.

Both of their hands reach for the door at the same time. Neither say anything for a moment as their hands touch.

"Harry. Let me go."

He only shakes his head, and finally, he slides the door open, watching her as she slips through, her head held high, making her way to her desk. The Grid grows quiet and then, one by one, her colleagues begin to approach her. She waves them off, saying, "I'm fine. Thank you. ..ALL. I …really… appreciate your concern. Truly. But I'm fine. Really." She nods her head for emphasis and flashes them a smile. "Just need a spot of tea." She says, gesturing to the mug on her desk. And then she sits down, picks up her headset, and adjusting them, leans into her computer.

In minutes, the Grid is once again humming with activity.


	2. Chapter 2

Expiation

Part I: Chapter 2

"Beth? "The newest junior officer of his team picks her head up. Harry is standing in his doorway, beckoning her into his office. "A word, please."

She enters his office in seconds. "When I get to the embassy—"

He waves her off. Sliding the door shut, he says, "Sit down for a minute." Harry crosses over to his desk and sits behind it, gesturing at Beth to sit down as well.

Sitting across from him, she asks, "Did I do something wrong—again?" Her tone is playful, and she smiles at him, her head tilted to one side.

But he only looks at her in momentary confusion. . "What? ….No. I just have a personal request to make of you."

She sits up straighter and nods, her smile gone.

"Does Ruth seem…all right to you? I mean, " he adds hurriedly, "did you notice anything off—or odd about her this morning?"

The young woman looks relieved. "Actually, I left before she did this morning- so, no."

"I see."

"But..." She begins to shift a bit in her chair.

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't really know her. I mean, she's been more than generous letting me stay with her…"

"And?"

"-But she does seem…." She looks away for a second.

"Beth." He says quietly. "You're not being disloyal. Or ungrateful. All of us are concerned about her. And if she's not well or …"

"She doesn't eat much, you know? And she hardly sleeps. I don't know if that's …normal for her. Is it?"

He leans in a bit. "What do you mean she hardly sleeps—and eats?"

Beth shrugs. "Again. I don't know her—not like you do." Harry says nothing at that, but he frowns a bit.

"OK….maybe she's just …"

"Just spit it out, Beth. If there's something you know that—"

"—I don't know anything. Except..." She draws herself up a bit in the chair and meets his eye.

"Go, on."

She clears her throat a bit. "Well…she really doesn't appear to sleep much— that much I can tell you. Whenever I get up for something at night, she's still up."

"What is she doing?"

"Actually, nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"I know her reputation. We all do. She's brilliant. So at first I didn't think much of her being up at all hours. You know, maybe that's how analysts are. Always thinking." She shrugs a bit. "But it does seem that she's…thinking a lot." She looks away for one moment.

"Again, you're not speaking out of turn. Please continue."

She looks back at him, shifting again. "Well," she says, "she's usually sitting in the dark—just—sitting there. Even in the kitchen."

"Perhaps she's getting something to eat?""

"I've actually never seen her eat—really eat."

At Harry's expression, she adds, "Well, I have seen her nibble on this and that—you know, a bit of cheese and maybe a piece of fruit. With wine….always with…" The pretty blond suddenly becomes very quiet.

"Is there something you need to tell me, Beth?"

She shakes her head, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Nothing unusual in having a glass of wine, is there? I mean, I do. Every night, in fact. "

"Then why mention it?"

Beth meet s his eye. "No reason. Just that I've never actually seen her have a real meal. Just the odd bit of cheese or fruit. And tea," she adds, "Tea. She does like her tea. But –we've never had dinner together even when I bring Chinese in, or, -—" She shrugs again. "She'll just say no thanks, and either sits quietly or goes back to her writing. "

"Writing?"

"She writes a lot when she isn't just sitting in the dark. Perhaps that's why she's sitting so quietly. She's thinking. About her writing, I mean. She nods. "And it does look like some kind of journal. Frankly, given what she's gone through…" Beth becomes very quiet.

Harry clears his throat. "Yes. Well…." He waits a beat. "Anything else?"

Beth shakes her head. "Else? "

Harry doesn't answer for a moment, then says only, "Thank you, Beth. That will be all."

"Is there..?"

"Do you have everything you need for your meeting?"

"Yes. I do. Tariq and Lucas have set me up."

"Good. If all goes well, you'll be on a plane to China this evening."

Beth nods." I'm confident that it should go as planned."

"Often," Harry says, "nothing goes as planned. And it would serve you well to keep that in mind, Beth."

The junior officer says nothing but nods gravely at Harry.

"And Beth?" He says, as she stands up to leave.

"It goes without saying that this conversation is not to be shared with anyone."

Of course," she says quietly before leaving his office. Moments later, she passes Ruth at her desk, still wearing her headset. With only a glance at her roommate and colleague, Beth quickly heads back to her own desk.


	3. chapter 3

Chapter 3

Expiation: (continued)

Ruth raises her mug to her lips, but doesn't drink. She does, however, steal a look at Beth who's studiously, Ruth knows, avoiding her. She feels as well, Harry's eyes on her through his glass cubicle. It seems to her that he is either watching her, talking about her, or just as bad, ostensibly ignoring her.

She gets up from her desk slowly, aware as she does so, that the Grid has gone quiet once more. Inwardly, she sighs, but continues to carefully make her way down the hall to the ladies. Once the door shuts behind her, she breathes a sigh of relief. She knows she has to come out some time, sooner than later—given the events of the morning— but for just a few minutes, she is free from their curious, albeit well-meaning, eyes. Especially his.

She goes over to the wash basin and runs some water. Splashing a bit on her face, she catches her reflection in the mirror above and is taken aback. _No wonder they're staring at me_. Her wonderfully expressive face droops, deep lines replacing dimples, and she cannot deny that Harry is right: Her face is terribly pale. Worse, her soft brown hair clings to her face, emphasizing her lackluster appearance. Even her sparkling blue eyes look dull. _You look like death warmed over._ She shivers, hugging her arms close to herself at the imagery.

She runs her hand through her hair, then takes out her lipstick and draws it across her lips before applying some to her cheeks as well. _But not too much_, she reminds herself, especially since she usually wears little make-up. And given her pallor, it would be even more obvious that she was trying too hard to convince her colleagues—and him—that all is as it should be.

"You're a born spook, Ruth," she says out loud, examining her handiwork, before shaking off the memory of Harry, all those years ago, leaning into her and telling her just that. And it is at this precise moment that she wishes she had taken up Harry's offer to go home. Anything would be better than her colleagues'—and his—pitying looks.

She stares at herself in the mirror some more. _It doesn't matter,_ she tells herself, running her hand through her hair again. _None of it does._

With that, she opens the door.

He's waiting for her.

She's really not surprised, either.

But Harry feigns surprise and gestures vaguely behind him at the gent's room. "Just coming from the—"

At the look on her face, he stops and drops all pretence. "All right." He gives a brief sheepish smile before turning serious again. "But I was worried about you. "

She sighs. "Harry."

She turns to go, but he gently grabs her arm and as he does so, it registers somewhere in his brain that her arm is thinner than he remembers. But he only says, "Are you sure you're all right?"

She bites off her automatic reply, surprising both of them. "Actually, not very. "

His eyes open a bit at that. "What can-?"

"l have decided," she says crisply, "to take you up on your offer. To go home," she adds.

He nods. "Good." Still holding her arm, he asks, "Are you feeling worse?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. Just …It'll be better if I go home."

"Yes." He says. "I'll have Beth—"

"No, Harry. There's no reason for—"

"There's every good reason—"

"I can —"

"I'm _not_ letting you go home yourself," he says. " He drops his voice a bit. "I'd take you, but I have a meeting—"

"Beth can take me home." She says, surprising him once again. And with that, she shakes off his hold on her, and turning her back on him, heads to her desk to shut down her computer.

* * *

_Finally_, she thinks. _Alone._ As Ruth shrugs off her coat, she tries as well to shake off the afterimage of Harry's eyes on her back as she and Beth, not long ago, had disappeared from the Grid's pods, away from Thames House –-and him.

Now, with Beth finally on her way to the Chinese Embassy, and no one watching her anymore, Ruth sinks down into her chair in the living room.

Her stomach rumbles, but she pays it no mind. It is dark, but she does not turn on the light. She sits there, her eyes wide open, seeing nothing and everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Part I, Expiation: Chapter 4

_"Nico! Stop splashing me!" Ruth says, laughing, skirting away from the pool and the little boy's mischievous splashing. "Stop!" She says, again, trying desperately to sound cross and convincing no one._

_All dimples and giggles, he hangs onto the edge of the pool with one hand, then with one quick swoop of his other hand, splashes her some more, this time the water spilling over the pool's edge and onto the brick patio as well._

_"Nico! "I said stop." She says again, this time with far more conviction. "I just dried off. And I have to make dinner. And your father –"_

_At the mention of his father, he puts both hands on the pool's edge. "Am I in trouble?" He looks up at her at her with soft brown eyes, his thick wavy hair dripping water all down his face._

_She smiles gently at him. "No. Not really," she says. "But it is time for me to make dinner."_

_He says nothing but only looks up at her._

_She bends down towards him a bit. "We'll swim …later, ok?"_

_Ok." He says. But before she turns away, he suddenly dives under the water, emerging mere seconds later, the water streaming off of his sleek body. "Ruth! Ruth! Look how long I can hold my breath!" And he makes a move to dive once more._

_"Nico," she says quickly before he disappears under the water, "This is really not a good time."_

_He makes a face. "I know." He says, rolling his eyes as well." You have to make… dinner." He draws out the last word dramatically for good measure._

_Ruth suppresses a smile before turning to the small café table near the pool._

_"But I'm so bored," he calls after her._

_She looks back at him with incredulity. "Bored? On this beautiful day?" She gestures to the azure sky, with a lone fluffy cloud off in the distant horizon._

_He only shrugs._

_"All right," she says, "I'll tell you what."_

_"What?" He asks, all traces of ennui suddenly gone._

_"Why don't you get on the raft," she says, pointing to the inflatable white raft bobbing in the water, "and pretend that you're on an island, out in the water—some place no one has ever been before." And," she adds, "You're simply floating along.. waiting... because you know that something special is going to happen."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Well," Ruth says, as she tilts the umbrella against the sun's rays on the small café table near the pool, "that should be up to you."_

_He looks at her skeptically._

_"You know," she adds, now arranging three chairs around the table, "use your imagination."_

_He hangs again on the edge of the pool. "Can I imagine that I'm lost and soon I'll be found?"_

_"Of course," Ruth says, and wonders what it is about his statement that troubles her. But she only says, "It's your imagination. You can be anyone and do anything you like—when you use your imagination."_

_"Ok." He says. He swims over to the raft, and does a belly flop onto it, his legs dangling in the water. He kicks vigorously to the opposite side of the pool, and reaching there, begins to gently paddle around with his hands, looking off into the distance, as if waiting for someone—or something._

_Ruth watches him with a little smile, and then reaches down absently to brush something off her leg. She brushes at it again, this time looking down._

_There's nothing there that she can see, but something is definitely buzzing around her leg._

_She looks even closer, running her hand down her leg for good measure._

_The water in the pool evaporates, and the boy disappears._

She easily finds her mobile -vibrating insistently against her leg— even though the room is now in total darkness.

She has no doubt who's on the other end, and she flips it open without looking at the display.

"Yes?" she says, closing her eyes, willing the boy to reappear.

"Ruth?"

She opens her eyes. It's no use. The boy is gone.

"Ruth?" He says again into the silence, a note of anxiety creeping through.

"Yes, Harry. I'm here."

"Did I wake you?"

"No…I was…just… resting."

He hesitates a bit. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I just wanted to know how—"

"I'm fine, Harry. Really. You didn't have to call."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Eaten?"

"Well, yes…"

Ruth glances up at the window. It is as dark outside as it is inside. She glances at the time on her mobile. Incredibly, it reads 17:43.

"Let me bring something in." He says. "I won't disturb you, but I—"

"That's not necessary, Harry. I'm sure I can find something to eat here."

"I won't stay," he says, "I'll just drop it off."

She sighs. Suddenly, she is just too tired to argue with him.

"Fine," she says, then adds, "Thank you. I'll set the table for us."

"For us? The words slip out before he can stop himself.

"You might as well eat, too."

"Are you sure?" He asks.

"Yes," she says, then adds," knowing you, it will be enough for an army."

He chuckles at that. "I'll be there soon, then."

"Yes." She says, tamping down the pang in her heart at the sudden lilt she hears in his voice.

Moments later, she flips the mobile shut and walks over to the small lacquered table in the corner of her living room. Running her hand under it, she checks for the leather-bound book gaffer-taped underneath. Her hand rests on it for a long second. Then, straightening up, she heads into the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry stands at the takeaway counter, not far from Ruth's place, and tries to decide which soup would be best for her. The soup menu itself is diverse which makes it all the more difficult for him.

He reads the menu listed above on the little chalkboard: Mulligatawny:_ too spicy;_ Potato and leek: p_ossible;_ Watercress…. _watercress. _He leans in closer to study the ingredients: Onion, potato, chicken stock, watercress..._Watercress. _Suddenly he is back with Catherine again urging him to try the green soup in a local bistro. _It's highly nutritious, Dad. _ _Just try some; you'll like it._ And he remembers his surprise that when he finally agrees to taste it, his daughter is right: he likes it, despite the color.

He looks up at the young woman at the counter. "The Watercress, please."

As he waits for his order, he recalls Beth's words to him:_ I've never actually seen her eat—really eat_. He feels Ruth's arm again, too, as if she is standing right next to him. _Was it always that thin_? _Has she-_

"Here you are, Sir."

"Thank you," he says as the young woman hands the soup to him. He handles the shopping bag almost reverently in one hand, carrying the crispy baguette and the salad in his other.

_Don't push_. He reminds himself, standing outside Ruth's door soon after. _You know how she is_. But he wonders if he really knows her anymore. She's unusually skittish lately, even though she remains perfectly civil to everyone. Especially to him.

* * *

"You don't really like it," he says to her, immediately regretting his words.

They sit in the kitchen, across one another, Ruth taking dainty spoonfuls of the flavorful soup. She looks less pale than at the Grid, he thinks, but he is not certain if this is due to the soft lighting in the kitchen or just his wishful thinking_. _

She looks up, taking another spoonful of the soup. "I do like it," she says. "Really."

"So you say," he replies. "But I think you're just being polite. You've hardly…." He stops, and breaks off another piece of the baguette.

"I've had plenty, Harry." She turns her head to the large container of soup set aside on the counter. "And you did bring enough for an army."

He smiles at that. "You can freeze the rest." At her doubtful look, he simply dips his bread into the soup. "Good bread," he says. "Want some?"

She declines with a shake of her head. "I'm really full."

He looks skeptical, but says nothing. Sopping up the last of his soup with the crust, he sneaks a peek at her.

She is a little subdued, but not unexpectedly so, given the morning's events. He finds nothing really wrong with her conversation either, although it too is muted. The table is set with care, the kitchen tidy, and the two wine glasses sparkle with a white Zinfandel she set out for each of them before sitting down with him.

Everything seems as it should, yet Harry knows something is not quite right, or as it seems. It is as if everything he sees surrounding Ruth is giving him an image, but a not quite developed one. And like such images, he knows he must wait for it to reveal its true self to him before he can really understand what it is that he sees before him. Perhaps, too, he thinks, he is too close; a picture as complex as this needs both time and distance. And so, he does what comes naturally to him: he takes note of every last detail and files it away for further review.

When her phone rings, it jars both of them. "Sorry," she says, getting up.

He looks up at the phone just above his head and to his left, and makes a move to pick it up for her. But she beats him to it. Somewhat awkwardly, she leans across him, her arm reaching for the phone. And when she does, her shirt rises, exposing the waistband of her skirt and the skin above.

He stares, then wrenches his eyes away, dismayed at what he sees; he is certain that she can hear his heart beating. But she seems not to notice, and continues talking on the phone. He stands up, stepping gingerly around her, and picking up his plate, brings it to the sink.

"Wrong number," she says, shaking her head and hanging up the phone. "I don't know why I even keep this one. No one I know ever calls me on it."

"It's still a good idea," he murmurs, his back to her, running some water over his plate, before setting it down in the sink.

"I suppose so." She says, and begins to clear the rest of the dishes off the table.

"Harry?"

He turns to her then.

"I said, do you want more wine or Earl Grey?" She looks pointedly at the still running water.

"Ah," he says only, finally shutting it off. "Tea, I suppose, if you're sure it's—"

"Don't be silly. It's the least I can do." she says, reaching for the electric kettle and flipping it on.

"You should try the biscuits," he says, gesturing to the tin on the counter. "They're all natural—or so the girl at the counter says."

She smiles gently at him. "Are you trying to fatten me up, Harry?"

For an instant, he does not know what to say. He speaks softly, and looks at her just as gently. "You do look—a little thinner, Ruth."

She simply shrugs, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Have you lost weight?" There. He's said it. He tries to look as nonchalant as possible.

The kettle clicks off, and she reaches for it.

"Don't come in tomorrow," he says, suddenly. "You should rest."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says. "I'm fine." And she pours the boiling water into the two mugs.

"Then take the morning off. Give yourself time."

She looks at him then. He's leaning against the counter, eyes filled with concern, and this time, she hasn't the heart to hurt him.

"Maybe that's all I need," she says to him. "Just a little time."

And she smiles, the first genuine smile of the night, nearly splitting his heart in two. But he only touches her arm ever so lightly in response. "Yes."

* * *

When he leaves not long after, she realizes that she is in fact, still smiling. His gentleness and concern touches her. She wonders if perhaps she can be happy, after all. But she needs to write it all down because she no longer trusts her emotions; she hasn't for a long time.

She makes her way to the little black table in the corner of her living room, and reaching under, carefully peels back the tape. The little journal falls into her hand, and she places it on the table. She sits down, and before reaching for her pen, wonders if this time she can—with just pen in hand—rewrite her future-her destiny. But the pen slips from her grasp, rolling off the table onto the floor, and when she bends down to retrieve it, she sees the picture which she keeps in her journal, now face down on the floor.

She hesitates before picking it up. Flipping it over, she stares at the image.

George stands in the back, his arms draped around his son who stands in front of him. Both are leaning into the picture, looking at her, the photographer. George smiles broadly, but Nico is laughing, showing his deep dimples, his dark eyes sparkling at her.

She puts down her pen. She opens the journal, to the sole page that matters, the first page, the only page that she keeps despite the long hours writing; despite the reams of paper she writes and rips out, night after night after night.

Only one page matters. Only one page speaks the truth. No matter how much she writes, or thinks, or tries to make sense of it all, all—all of it— pales next to her very first page, the only page she ever keeps.

So she does what she does every night to remind her what she must do, and who she is.

She reads it again.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6: Expiation_

_-Page 1-_

_My name is Ruth. _

_I left London, an innocent woman, as a murderess. I allowed this to be for an ideal, for him, for me, even as I knew that there could be no us._

_I am home now; my name cleared, and so, no longer considered a murderess. _

_But George is dead. He is dead because I killed him, a good man, a kind man— a man who loved his son –and me. And in return for this love, I stole a man's life— and a father from his son. _

_Nico once told me that if you pay attention, you can find RUTH—hiding in TRUTH. _

_The truth is, however, that except for my name, I told them nothing true. I told myself it was for the best: I was protecting them; there was no need. There was no need for me, the hidden Ruth, to be found; and so, no need for truth. _

_But I am a liar. I lie effortlessly, naturally, as if it were the truth. Perhaps it is my nature. Clearly, it is my trade. _

"_A born spook," he says. Yes. _He_ speaks the truth. He knows me, perhaps better than I know myself. _

_Yet I continue to blame him for George's death even though I know this to be a lie— even though I have told him that it is not his fault— for in my heart, I have no choice; I must continue to blame him because the truth is too painful: I and I alone am responsible for George's death. My sin of omission- my deceit—robbed George of the truth and a choice; and ultimately, his life. Instead of giving him a choice, I made the choice for all of us. And In doing so, I killed a man and took a father from his son. I know this, but I continue to lie because I am a coward._

_I am a coward because I am afraid to look in the mirror, and see the person who I have become; what I have done; what I have lost; what I continue to lose. I must turn from the truth—and the pain— because I am a coward. _

_And so I blame him; I blame him for his principles; I blame him for his timing. I push him away— when he only speaks the truth. I turn from his touch— when all I want for him is to touch me, hold me, be with me—and let him tell me that he loves me. _

_I lie, and lie, and lie. And each time I do, a little piece of me dies. Soon, there will be nothing left of me. And this is just; it is right: I killed a man. I stole a father from a son. I do not deserve to be loved— especially by him. THIS is my only truth. _

_My name is Ruth. _

_-End of Part I- _


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you ALL for your interest, and of course, your wonderful reviews for this story. Equally important, I know Ruth is in a dark place, but she is **_**not**_** alone. So rest assured, she…**

**(You don't **_**really**_** want me to give everything away, do you?) :)  
**

**Expiation/ Part II: Propitiation**

Not quite 7 am, Harry steps into Thames House, mobile against his ear.

"I'm making headway setting up a meeting with Kai," Beth says, referring to the Chinese nationalist currently being held by his own government for treason and colluding with MI-5 not long ago.

Harry hopes she is right; it is rare in his business that he meets people who not only have integrity—but actually possess the moral fiber to see their principles through— irrespective of the horrific sacrifice it exacts upon them—and the unimaginable pain it often wreaks upon those who love them as well.

Yet rare as such acts are in his line of work, conversely, his position also affords him the privilege of witnessing such acts; and when they do occur, he is humbled—and moved. Such extraordinary individuals, who sacrifice everything for an ideal, weigh heavily upon him, especially when he is at home, alone, in the still of the night.

In fact, the recent case of a particular scientist and his daughter, both scientists, and whose remarkable courage came at an appalling price- is one such example; there are some nights, in fact, Harry Pearce does not sleep at all.

Yet he is not a naïve man; as much as he admires such individuals, there are limits as to what he can to do to mitigate the consequences of those who do sacrifice themselves. Nor does he believe, has he the right to stop them from acting upon their conscience. Each man and woman, he knows, must follow their heart: their very souls demand this—no matter the cost. _Adam_, _Danny, Zaf, Jo, Ros, Ru-_

"Take your time, Beth—don't push too hard."

"I understand."

"And I want an update every few hours," he instructs her, before ending the call.

"Will do."

Moments from entering the Grid, he forces himself to take his own advice to Beth while she is in China —_don't push—_ and suppresses his urge to call Ruth. He does, however, allow himself the singular pleasure of reading her name on his mobile's contact list. Unconsciously, he runs his thumb over her name before he slips his mobile back into his coat pocket and at last, steps into the Grid.

She's not there at her desk. But then, it's early— barely 7am. Still, he stares at her empty work station.

"Good morning, Harry." Lucas's voice cuts into him. "Have you heard from Ruth? Is she—?"

Harry, long past caring if his concern for her is obvious to others, simply turns to his section chief. "Actually, I did. She's doing better; at least, that is how it appears." And he runs the previous evening over his mind yet again, still trying to bring the imprecise image that is Ruth and her world, into focus.

"Good," Lucas says. "Do you think she'll be in, today?"

Harry shrugs. "Knowing Ruth, it's anyone's guess. I told her to take at least the morning off, but again, knowing her —"

His phone vibrates, and he presses it to his ear once more.

"Yes, Home Secretary. So I've been informed." He gives a curt nod to Lucas before turning away and heading into his class cubicle of an office. "I understand, and I have just informed her that she is to tread carefully," he says, attempting to slip his coat off with his free hand. "She realizes the grave importance of…"

When he strides out of his office minutes later, red in the face, coat thrown back on, Lucas looks up at him quizzically.

"Bloody politicians," is all Harry says. He shrugs his coat into place, but leaves it unbuttoned and heads out once more.

* * *

_Will he _ever_ shut up? _

"And….. Am I keeping you,_ Sir_ Harry?" The newest Home Secretary asks, practically salivating sarcasm as he speaks.

_You are, in fact_. But Harry says only the expected, his face perfectly impassive. "Of course not, Home Secretary."

The HS looks at Harry for a long moment, and then sighs." Fine. But I warn you," he adds, "this meeting cannot—will not-interfere with our diplomatic relationship with the Chinese._ Any_, and I mean, _any_ inkling that your junior office is jeopardising this will have serious consequences—for her—and for you. Have I made myself clear?" The big man leans a bit across his desk, eyes boring into Harry.

"Crystal Clear, Home Secretary." _Bloody hell_."

Harry's mobile vibrates, and instinctively, his hand reaches for his coat pocket; his eyes, however, remain fixed upon the HS.

The Home Secretary merely shakes his head. "Just go," he says, and begins to shuffle some papers on his desk.

"Home Secretary," Harry says in acknowledgement and turns to the door. His hand is already around his mobile.

Out in the the corridor, Harry listens to his voice mail.

Taking a deep breath, he immediately returns the call. And as soon as Lucas answers, Harry asks only one question, the only question that really matters to him: "What's her condition?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8/ Expiation

Part II: Propitiation

"What's her condition?"

"I don't know, Harry," Lucas answers. "They gave me no other information other than what I just told you."

"What do you mean? You tell me she's in hospital and…" He takes another deep breath, and then speaks more calmly to the younger man. "I'm heading there now to see for myself. St. Charles, you said?"

"Yes." Lucas says, and then adds, "Harry, I'm sure she'll be ok."

It takes every bit of Harry's self-control not to lash out at as his Section Chief. Moderating his tone, if not his actual words, he says, "You don't know that- or anything for that matter. Or so you tell me," he adds, enjoying a certain—if fleeting satisfaction—at his last words before summarily hanging up.

The London traffic, although no heavier than usual at this time in the morning, seems to, according to Harry, move not at all. At one point, he seriously considers getting out and walking to the hospital, but he's a realist: if he does so, it will in fact, take him twice as long to see her than if he just allows his driver to do his job. _ Drive, _he silently commands the driver, willing the car to move faster.

Needing to do something, he calls the hospital again. And once again, they ask him the same question, no matter how any times he explains the unique circumstances: "Are you a family member?"

"And how many times must I tell you that this is a matter of national security? " Harry asks, not caring if he's abusing his position or not as Section Head of MI-5 in order to just get some basic information about Ruth.

But his position gets him nowhere—at least on the phone, and he hangs up. _Stupid cow—_cows, he silently amends, fuming. _ How many can there actually _be_ in just _one_ hospital?_

Next, he fixes his eye on his driver who wisely refuses to make eye contact with Harry in in his rear-view mirror; the driver, privy throughout the years to such moods, rare notwithstanding, knows exactly what to say and do in such circumstances: Say nothing. Do nothing. Just Drive.

Thus, in utter silence, except for Harry tapping his index finger against his leg, and the muffled blare of other exasperated Londoners honking their horns, the driver navigates the London traffic. When they do pull up in front of the hospital, Harry gets out, giving no further instructions to his driver.

"Shall I wait, Sir?" His driver asks through the open window.

"Wait for my call," is Harry's response, slamming the door shut.

The driver raises his eyebrows a bit but says nothing. He knows it's going to be a long morning, perhaps an even longer day. And so, he does what he usually does on such days: he simply nods, pulls away, and finding a place to wait nearby— if not actually to park—pulls his cap down over his eyes and waits for Sir Harry's call.

* * *

Wordlessly, Harry shows his identification to the young woman in the standard health care uniform, sitting behind the front desk. There's a raised eyebrow or two, but after she makes a discreet phone call, another woman soon approaches, her ash-blond hair pulled back into a neat chignon, perfectly fitting her well-tailored grey suit and equally stylish, black shoes with small heels. He takes little note of her tasteful attire, except that she is not in a uniform and parroting the uniform replies to his questions. For this, he is thankful.

"I need to know how she is- and to see her," Harry says, as the woman comes closer. " And I warn you, I will not be put off any long—"

"She's being looked after, I assure you, Sir Harry," she says, speaking in a well- modulated voice, matching her tasteful attire. "They know that you are here, and if you will just wait a few minutes, the doctor will be with you shortly and answer all your questions."

"Just tell me how she is."

The woman appraises the man in front of her. Her responsibility in situations such as these is to remain professional and say as little as possible—unless of course, really pressed otherwise. As Harry stares at her, the woman decides _otherwise_ is indeed, the wisest course of action.

"She's…resting." She says. "But that is all I can tell you, really. I'm not a doctor, just the hospital liaison in situations such as these, as I'm sure you understand."

"I understand only that I have been told very little."

"You have been told that she fainted on a bus, rather, getting _off_ a bus, this morning?"

"Yes. But precious little else. And –"

" I have little information other than that to tell you, Sir Harry. I'm sorry. But if you follow me," she adds quickly, noting the sudden flush on his face, "the doctor will give you all the information you need."

"And Miss Evershed?" He asks, following her down the corridor. "Where is she?"

"From what I understand, they're doing tests-—"

"What kind of tests?"

"I really cannot tell you that."

"It is a matter of national security," he says biting off each word so hard that his teeth actually hurt.

"Yes, I understand. However, I truly don't know what kind of tests. But if you will be kind enough to follow me, I am sure your questions will soon be answered."

Given no other choice, Harry follows her down a long corridor until she stops in front of a room. Opening the door, she steps inside, ushering Harry in as well. But when he sees it is empty save for two chairs and a desk, he turns his wrath upon her. "What is so difficult to simply tell me where she is—and how she is?"

The door behind him slams shut as he speaks, and the young woman jumps at the door and Harry's tone.

Before she can recover, the door creaks open, stops, then opens a bit more, a face peering around it cautiously. Moments later, the rest of the body follows. A lanky young man with ginger hair and freckles looks at Harry, who clearly, is not impressed at what he sees. _Christ_. _Isn'_t anyone_ here over the age of 15_?

"Sir Harry? I'm Doctor—"

"How is she?" He asks. "And, don't," he instructs the doctor, "tell me that I'm not a relative."

"I wasn't going to," he replies with considerably more mettle than Harry thinks capable—given the physician's youthful appearance; Harry quickly reassesses his initial impression of the young man and gives the doctor his full attention.

"We understand as well that you have your own physicians and … facility for your ….people, especially in cases such as these." The doctor carefully says.

"Facility?" His stomach clenches a bit at that. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"We are, of course, trying to treat her, as well as respect any confidentially— beyond the standard patient confidentiality— due to her unique position."

Before Harry can fully process that, the doctor adds, "And of course, we have put a call into her regular physician."

"Why? Is there something seriously wrong? "

"It's standard protocol, that's all- obtaining patient history to properly treat a patient. And of course, especially in this circumstance, we are told only what is medically germane –nothing else."

Harry nods. "And what….how is she, really?"

"Right now, she's resting."

"So I've been told, ad nauseum. But that's not really what I asked."

The doctor looks at Harry before answering: "We don't have any answers, not yet," then asks, suddenly, "Does she have any family here?

_You mean besides me_?" We— her colleagues—are her family," Harry says, firmly. Any information that you—"

"-I think you misunderstand –"

"— need to treat Miss Evershed, you will have—in short order. But in order to do so, _I _need to know how she is. Do keep in mind that she is an essential member of my team on behalf of the British government and Her Majesty." Harry says tartly.

The doctor blinks at that. "Frankly, the only reason I asked about family is I'm hoping someone will convince her to stay at least overnight either here—or elsewhere. But," he adds drolly, I think that you will do nicely."

"Do you find this amusing?"

The doctor draws back a bit at that. "Of course not, and I apologise if it seemed otherwise. I just meant we need someone to convince her that she needs medical attention. She's dehydrated, and possibly malnourished, and we would like to know why and how it relates to her fainting. But she's insistent that we release her. And of course, we cannot keep her without her permission."

A vision of Ruth, reaching over him for the phone last night, runs through Harry's mind. _Dehydrated. Malnourished. _ He's suddenly chilled to his very marrow.

"Again, we can handle the blood work here —unless she—or the service- would rather she seek care elsewhere. But at any rate, she really needs to be in hospital and thoroughly checked out."

"I'll speak with her. Take me to her."

The doctor nods at Harry. "Before I do, I need to ask one other question, Sir Harry, to help us to properly assess her condition, you understand. And it's.. rather a….delicate one," he says, "because of her…employment."

"Go on."

"Has she been under any strain lately? "

Harry looks incredulously at the doctor. "Do you really expect me to answer that?"

"Not specifically, of course," he says quickly.

"Why do you need to know this?"

"Because if so, it may be related to her general condition."

Harry pauses before answering. "She has—suffered a personal loss recently. "

"I see."

Neither men speak for a moment.

"She may benefit from speaking with someone." The doctor finally says before adding, "Of course, with the proper clearance."

"Has she …said anything …personal…of that nature …to you?"

The doctor merely says, "I'm sure you'd like to see her, now."

"Take me to her," he says.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Propitiation

At long last, Harry finds himself exactly where he wants—needs to be: directly in front of Ruth's room. But now that's he is actually there, alone and moments from seeing her, he stares at the closed door to her private room and hesitates.

Harry is not a man who often second-guesses himself; he cannot afford the luxury. Indeed, his business demands that he act prudently and quickly, a talent lesser men both lack and envy. Clearly, this singular talent serves him and his country well. But this is different: this is Ruth. And as such, he finds himself in uncharted waters with no map, no compass, and no second-mate to lead him out of these unknown waters. And what he does possess, he is not sure is adequate: an imprecise image of her and only his instinct. And if he's not even sure that he can trust himself, how can he ask her to trust him?

But she is in there and needs help. He knocks.

She answers immediately. "Come in."

When he hears her voice, it is like manna from heaven, drawing him in despite his trepidation.

She is sitting in a chair next to the bed, dressed in hospital gown, blanket draped over her shoulders, covering most of her body. Her feet are in slippers, and her lower legs are exposed. An IV stand is next to her and on her bed, an arm's length away from her, is a plastic bag. When she sees who it is, she pulls her wan face into a smile. "Harry."

"Ruth." He says, wanting to say so much more. But he is suddenly, uncharacteristically, struck dumb.

"I'm fine," she says, filling in the silence. "And going home as soon as they unhook me from…" and she points to the IV stand next to her. As she raises her arm, he sees the flexible plastic tubing snaking out from under her blanket, running up to the pole and beyond to the pouches of medication hanging there.

She follows his gaze. "It's nothing…glucose… sugar….vitamins…" She shrugs.

"What," he clears his voice and tries again, "What happened to your leg?" She looks down at the ugly bruise already beginning to form on her shin. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Did that happen when you fainted this morning?" When he leans in for a better look, he sees that it's badly skinned as well. "Oh, Ruth," is all he says again.

"It's superficial, really. Don't worry about it. I'm fine." She takes a breath and her words tumble forth in fits and starts. "I'm sorry that you came. No. I mean, thank you. But. …well." She takes a breath before going on." "Actually, I'm glad you're here. They're giving me a hard time about going home. You see, they want someone to drive me back. Be responsible for getting me back home. Can I impose up on you? Now that you're here, I won't take long." She says the last as if they've bumped into one another in a shop, and suddenly realizes that she finds herself without a ride home and must impose upon the other's kindness.

It is then then he really understands the plastic bag on the chair in the corner. She glances at it as well. "It won't take me long to get dressed, she repeats, "Once they unhook me, that is."

"You mustn't" he says, finally finding his voice. "I've spoken to the doctor, and he says you need to stay here for observation."

She shakes her head. "Harry, I'm fine. And —"

"You are not fine, Ruth, and I will not drive you home." He says, standing perfectly still.

She stares back at him. "I _am_ going home, whether you drive me or not—as soon as I can."

"Listen to me," he says, moving in closer until only inches from her, his voice urgent and low, "You're dehydrated and most likely—malnourished. This is nothing to fool around with."

"They _are_ taking care of it." And she glances back at the IV pole.

"This is serious, Ruth. The next time you faint, you may not be so lucky. You need to stay here and find out _why_ you are dehydrated and malnourished."

She looks down at her lap.

"Ruth. I...I'm not a doctor, but I know that something is wrong. If you don't want to talk to me, I understand, but you need professional care. Of this I am certain."

She picks her head up and looks at him. "I want to go back to work, Harry. I've already missed—"

"You are unfit for duty."

Her eyes widen in shock. "You're joking."

"I assure you, I am not." He takes a deep breath, and speaks more gently. "At the very least, Ruth, you must stay for 24 hours. Let them do more tests. And then, I promise, we will revisit this. I give you my word."

"I'm just …tired…"

At the look on his face, she adds. "All right. I admit haven't been sleeping well...but I suppose they can give me something to forg...help me sleep at night."

"I think it's more than just simple insomnia, Ruth."

"I thought you said you're not a doctor." For the first time in a long time, he sees a flash of the old Ruth. A pinch of color flares up on her cheeks, and her ice blue eyes bore into him like lasers.

And for an instant, he is gratified_; but this is Ruth_, he says to himself—_a born spook._

"You are right, of course, he says. "But then again, neither are you, Ruth. Which is why," he adds, "you need to let professionals tell you what's going on with you."

She shakes her head. "Harr—"

"-I'm serious Ruth. Make no mistake about this. You will not be permitted back on the Grid until you are thoroughly checked out." He pauses in the hush of the room. "Just give them 24 hours, Ruth," he says. "A day. It isn't much to ask for one's health."

Her body sags imperceptibly, but he takes note of it. And when she looks up at him again, he sees as well the defeat in her eyes and knows that he has won this small battle.

But he knows as well that he must act swiftly; that soon she too will rethink her strategy and try to outwit him. She's clever, very clever, he knows, and so he knows as well that he must quickly divine the appropriate strategy to help him wage war against the enemy within; for he believes her enemy is not a corporal one, even as it destroys her body—slowly but inexorably – right before his eyes.

But in order to do so, he needs proof. But how can one find tangible proof in an incorporeal enemy? Time— always time—plays against him as well. And so he decides to use the only weapon he has, even if it means he must commit an act that she may very well consider betrayal—and act of treason from which there may be no return for him—or them . But if it saves Ruth, he is willing to sacrifice whatever they have between them- her feelings for him—his hope for a future with her—everything he holds close to his heart. She deserves no less. Thus, he sets his mind to it.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Propitiation

As he leaves the hospital— and Ruth, Harry's mobile vibrates. Reaching inside his coat pocket, he flips it open without reading the display.

"Harry…"

From the sound of her voice, he knows immediately that something is wrong. He almost sighs, but he catches himself in time. "What is it, Beth? "

His junior officer speaks breathlessly. "It's Kai. The Chinese government is willing to negotiate," she continues, "but he refuses to see me."

"Are you certain it's Kai and not the government?" He says, now standing on the kerb, scanning the traffic for his driver, presumably somewhere close by. He presses his ear even harder to hear better against the cacophony of traffic and pedestrians, most who are also talking on mobiles.

"Yes. That's what so damned …frustrating." As she speaks, Harry can hear the emotion in her voice.

His driver finally pulls alongside of him. "Again," Harry says, opening the car door and stepping in, "if you haven't actually seen him, perhaps—"

"No, you don't understand, Harry."

"Tell me exactly what happened. Beth," he says settling in the back seat. As he closes the door, the noise from the street recedes in the background.

"It was all set up by the Chinese government; in fact, they were –"

"What was?"

"The meeting; there was actually a journalist…"

"A journalist? Please tell me that you're joking. Your instructions were explicit: be discreet and make no promises."

"No, you don't understand."

"Just a moment." Covering the phone, he leans over the front seat and tells the driver where to go. His driver only nods, and in seconds, the car begins to thread through the heart of London—dodging cyclists, vehicles, and of course, the ubiquitous tourists, along the way.

"Beth—"

"This is for_ real_, Harry. The government_ wants_ to negotiate."

"Naturally. We have and always shall have something they want; but that doesn't mean that we would actually agree to do so. Your being there was a merely a preliminary step in this process—- a tenuous one at that. I thought you understood."

"They wanted to improve their human rights image, or so they tell me; so, they set up the photographer-"

"Oh, this gets better and better." He says, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.

"But at the last minute, Kai sends a message through his parents that he has no intention of… being used anymore, by anyone… that he must answer for his actions... specifically, turning his brother in all those years ago."

This time Harry did sigh. "It was a long shot at best. Remember, you gave him every opportunity to slip away. He chose not to for the very reason you say. Nothing, it seems, has changed since then. As a result, you cannot –"

"But Harry—"

"It's over, Beth. Come home."

"I _can't."_

"This is _no_t open for negotiation. The man has made his decision, whether or not you understand it or agree with it. Each man—and woman- has to answer to their own conscience. Kai has made his peace with it," he adds not unkindly. "I advise you to do the same."

Hanging up soon after, Harry runs through the conversation once more, Beth's last words to him in particular. "But he's sacrificing himself. "

Bile rises to his throat. "Can't you drive faster?" He says to his driver.

"I'm trying, sir. But –"

"Bugger the traffic. Step on it."

As his driver does the best that he can, Harry ponders his conversation with Beth. Rationally, he knows his own advice to her is sound. Kai remains unwavering in his intention. Personal freedom, all the comforts one takes for granted, pales in the face of his conscience. Indeed, whether or not others find his behavior naive, or misguided— even incomprehensible— is irrelevant to the Chinese nationalist.

Clearly, Harry understands Beth's frustration and pain. The pain from watching someone suffering one cares about is a singularly acute one. But there is nothing she can do, not if Kai is determined to follow his conscience. Better she accepts it, and soon, he tells himself.

_And Ruth? But it's different with Ruth._

He will help her. He _will_. But the nagging thought gnaws at him despite his best attempt to push it away. What if Ruth for whatever reason—is punishing herself as well? What if she believes that she is standing by _her_ principles, and no other course of action is acceptable? Then if so, is she no different than Kai? Must he take his own advice at some point and stand and watch helplessly while she commits herself to some ideal, no matter the cost?

He shakes his head at the absurdity of such an idea. Ruth is...Ruth, not Kai. She is simply in trouble—for whatever reason, and he _is_ going to do whatever he has to do to help her.

And he will not, cannot, stand by and see her slowly wither away to nothing. And with that thought, Harry sees he is at last, at his destination.

As he gets out, he instructs his driver: "Go. Wait for my call."

"Yes, sir. "

He watches as his driver pulls away and fades from view. It is only then that he approaches the front door.

It takes him under one minute to open it. A piece of paper stuck between door and doorjamb flutters to the ground. _Still up to your old tricks, aren't you, my girl_? Picking it up, he carefully places it in his inside coat pocket, next to his heart. Then as if perfectly natural, he opens Ruth's door and enters.


	11. Chapter 11

Expiation Chapter 11

Part II: Propitiation

Harry stands in Ruth's foyer. There is a faint, but unmistakable odor of smoke and ash. It is possible, he thinks, that she lit a fire after he left, but the smell is different than a wood-burning one. He adds it his list of things to check. But before he actually does anything, he continues to stand there, scanning the area like a panoramic camera, making a systemic sweep from one side to the other, 180 degrees at a time. Her living room and sitting area are to his right, straight ahead is the kitchen, and just to his left, the curved staircase leads up to the bath and two bedrooms, one of which, of course, is Ruth's.

He is drawn towards her living room, yet he heads into the kitchen. He does so because he needs an answer to a question, one he fears he already knows. But he needs to make sure that his intuition is right.

Entering it, he takes note of its condition. Everything is in order; perhaps too much so. There are no signs, in fact, that anyone actually eats there despite their having shared dinner only last night. Heading directly to the fridge, he opens it, taking inventory of its meager contents. There's one egg, some rubbery carrots, a piece of hard cheese, a splash of milk, and little else. But there are two, unopened bottles of white Zinfandel, the same wine she had set out for them the night before. There is no sign of the Watercress soup.

He takes a look in the freezer. Aside from a couple packages of frozen vegetables, it too, is empty.

He looks in her rubbish under the sink. At first, all he sees are teabags, paper towels, and tissues; but on closer examination, he sees a bit of an apple core and is ridiculously cheered by it. But this is short lived; Beth, he reminds himself, actually lives here as well; perhaps it's hers.

_Perhaps there was more food; perhaps Ruth actually finished the soup, perhaps Ruth_—he stops running all the possible scenarios in his mind.

His question is answered.

He goes over to the tin of biscuits next to the microwave on the counter, still sealed and touches it, almost tenderly. "What have you been living on, Ruth?" He says out loud.

He stays a few minutes more, pulling out drawers, opening cabinets, and checking the sink, just in case. But he knows more than ever it is in the living room where he will find what he needs to know. He cannot say exactly how he knows this, but he knows it, nevertheless. And so, he wastes no more time and goes there.

_Oh, you're not going to make this easy, are you, Ruth?_

He runs his eyes left and right and up and down the bookshelves which run horizontally and vertically in the room, taking up most of the wall space. He draws nearer: ancient writers like Homer, Hesiod, Sappho, Aeschylus, Socrates, Thucydides, Hammurabi, Virgil, Ovid… flicker across his vision like a silent movie. But he can find no system to her filing; then it dawns on him that she has placed them by era rather than alphabetical order, except for Offa— a particular passion of Ruth's—who has been given his own place of honor, in a section separate from the rest.

Harry moves on, scanning each shelf. Classics take up most of the first and second sections of the shelves, some stacked three deep; some of these are in their original language which he cannot decipher. Nevertheless, he continues, methodically, doing the best he can, pausing at some, skimming over others. In this fashion, he moves through time until he comes to the metaphysical poets, like Donne; still later, the romantic poets like Blake and Burns; then the modernists: Joyce; D. H Lawrence; Dylan Thomas…

He picks up each book from this last collection and riffles the pages; certain pages in each volume are bookmarked: "The Dead ";Odour of Chrysanthemums;" Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night"; he shuts the last, almost dropping it. It is then he realizes his hands are sweaty, and he wipes them on his pants. Suddenly, the room is freezing, and he wonders if her central heating is actually on.

His eyes drop to the black lacquered table near this section of books. There's nothing on it, except for a pen holder on the left, with a few writing implements inside. But just to the right of it is a pewter frame, which displays some writing. He moves closer to read it:

_A Mother's Lament for the Death of Her Son_

_Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,_

_And pierc'd my darling's heart;_

_And with him all the joys are fled_

_Life can to me impart._

_By cruel hands the sapling drops,_

_In dust dishonour'd laid:_

_So fell the pride of all my hopes,_

_My age's future shade._

_The mother-linnet in the brake_

_bewails her ravish'd young;_

_So I, for my lost darling's sake,_

_Lament the live day long._

_Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,_

_Now, fond, I bare my breast,_

_Oh, do thou kindly lay me low_

_With him I love, at rest!_

_-Robert Burns (1759-1796)_

_Yes. Here_. He tries the drawer. Not surprisingly, it's locked. He jiggles it a bit, listens, then stops. He is fairly sure that there's little inside, but to be sure, he puts it on his list, a list that seems to grow exponentially by the minute. Then he runs his hands underneath and immediately feels the rectangular shape and the gaffer-tape holding its package in place.

He crouches down and carefully begins to peel the tape back. In seconds, the leather-bound journal rests in his hand. He notes its lack of heft, surprising him, given its binding and size. Slowly, he opens it, and turns the flyleaf: underneath, a picture of Nico and George smiles up at him. George and Nico; Polis, Greece. Summer, 2007.

And underneath them: a folded copy of John Donne's Meditation 17; _Devotions upon Emergent Occasions: Now this bell tolling softly for another, says to me, Thou must die. LENTO SONITU DICUNT, MORIERIS_

_No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.._

_Oh, Ruth. Ruth._

But it is when he turns to the first page of the journal and reads what is written there in her unmistakable hand— the only page that actually exists in her journal— does Harry Pearce do the unthinkable. He breaks down and cries.

It takes him a while, but he gathers himself and lays the book as flat as he can; and taking out his mobile, snaps a picture of the first page, the only page that is written. He examines the picture, then saves it, and finally, flips his mobile shut. Then ever so carefully, he replaces the journal underneath the table.


	12. Chapter 12

Expiation: Part II

Chapter 12:

Propitiation

A few hours after Harry's visit, Ruth is in bed, hospital blanket drawn up around her, hoping that the next 24 hours or so will pass quickly. And she is determined, no matter what he might say or do to get her to stay longer, to hold him to his side of the bargain: 24 hours in total, and not a minute more.

She intends as well to raise no red flags, to cooperate fully, and give no reason otherwise why she should not be recommended for release the following day. And when they do release her, she knows she will have to be on guard more than ever to keep his suspicions at bay; he already suspects too much. But she needs to be home; she needs her memories, her journal— and her guilt— to keep her on her path which she has chosen.

But away from home and her journal—especially coupled with his obvious feelings for her, she can feel her resolve wavering. "Just 24 hours," she whispers. "Just 24."

The day's events take its toll on her. Her head falls back onto the pillow, and in minutes, she falls asleep.

The day takes its toll on Harry as well. Going through Ruth's stuff gives him no particular pleasure, and when he is finally done, he is exhausted. Still, he remembers one last thing on his list: He goes over to her fireplace and notices some ash, rather than charcoal, from burning wood. He examines the fireplace more closely. It is clear to him that something was burned there, most likely paper. He thinks of the sole page written in her journal, a copy of it on his mobile, and wonders if she has written other pages and burned them as well. But why keep just the one, he wonders?

He leaves that to ponder upon for later; minutes later, he is replacing the little paper back in the doorjamb, and locking her front door.

When his driver returns for him, it is already dusk. Fortunately, there were few phone calls, and the Grid is relatively quiet. Nor has Beth called in; perhaps she is on her way home from China. He knows he should call her, but he puts that off until later. He gives silent thanks to whatever god there is that no emergency occurred on this day when Ruth needed him so much.

He gets into the car. "Take me to St. Charles, please," he tells his driver.

During the drive, the copy of her journal on his mobile seems to burn right through his coat pocket and straight to his very soul. But he cannot bear to open it and read it again. Reading it the first time broke something inside of him, and it is only now, hours later, that he feels whole enough to actually see her.

And see her he must. He must convince her that she needs help— professional help. He will not allow her to sacrifice herself because of some misplaced feelings of culpability for others' evil actions.

As far as for the rest, he is stymied how best to handle it. But he is gratified—in a wholly selfish manner he realizes— to know her true feelings about him.

"St. Charles, Sir Harry," the driver says, breaking into Harry's musings, as the car pulls up to the kerb.

He makes his way to her room, but when he gets there, he doesn't enter. Instead, he takes a peek through the little square window in her door. She is lying in bed, and appears to be sleeping, the blue light above her bed casting an eerie tint on her face. He watches her as she sleeps for a while. Then touching the glass, he turns and leaves her.

The next morning, she is sitting up in bed, waiting to speak to the doctor, when Harry shows up. She wonders why he did not call the evening before, or this morning as well.

But he is here, now and she cannot hide her gratitude to see him especially if it means she will soon be home.

He smiles as he enters the room. "Ah," he says, noticing the tray on the little table nearby, "The Full English Breakfast, I see."

She smiles back at him. "Not quite," she says. "It does leave something to the imagination."

He looks at the less than appealing items on the tray, and nods in commiseration, but he takes note that she did drink her tea and a bit of yoghurt which pleases him no end.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, dragging a chair around to face her, before he sits down on it.

"Fine. And ready to go home."

"Ah." He says. "About that…"

"Harry. You promised." She says, giving him a warning look.

"Actually, I said that you should—"

"—24 hours, you said."

"To revisit this."

"You cannot be serious." She says.

He leans in a bit more towards her. "I...need to talk to you, Ruth. "

"What is it? "

"I went to your house, yesterday."

"Why?" She asks, her face perfectly impassive, even as the rush of adrenaline courses through her body.

His voice drops. "I was—am—worried about you." His hand instinctively reaches towards hers, but she pulls away from his touch.

He sighs. "You're not...taking care of yourself properly."

"—Must I remind you again, that you are not a doctor?" She says, articulating every syllable.

"Ruth," he says as patiently as he can, "You've lost a great deal of weight, you're pale, passing out, and I saw little to no food in your refrigerator. It doesn't take a genius—"

"—You have no right to interfere in my private –"

"—I am not going to idly stand by and watch you fade away to nothing; I had to make sure that—"

"—-How dare you?" she asks. "How dare you?" She asks again, tamping down the nausea that threatens to rise up and spill over.

"Ruth. Listen to me. You need to talk to someone about…what happened. To you. To George. ….Nico."

And it is at that precise moment, that she realizes her worst fear has come true: he has not only searched her house, he has found—and read—her journal. She manages—through sheer willpower— not to throw up her breakfast.

"Tell me, Harry, she says, swallowing visibly, her eyes locked on his, "Did you enjoy going through my knickers, too?"

"Ruth."

"You need to leave, "she says, her voice as icy as he has ever heard it.

"You need to know that I going to recommend that you take a medical leave; and in fact, I believe that it would be would be best if you—"

"—"You have no right—"

"I have every right as your superior and as ….someone…" He trails off, at a loss for words.

"No, Harry. You may have every right as my superior, but we are not… "She begins again, "If you want to relive me of duty, then you are quite right: that is your prerogative. But you will not, cannot, tell me how to live my life. Now please leave.""

"This isn't finished, Ruth." He says, getting up and heading towards the door. "Understand me when I say to you, it is not."

When the door closes behind him, she flings the blanket off of her. "Just who the bloody hell does he think he is?" She says to the empty room.

She peels the tape off her IV, and then searches for the needle in her vein with her thumb. Slowly she works it out, ignoring the pain. She alternates as well between concentrating on sliding the needle out and glancing at the small window in the door. She knows she has little time, but it's essential that if someone should come in, she hide what she is doing.

In less than a minute, she is free; the site from the IV site bleeds a bit, but she forgoes blotting it with the package of tissues near her bed; she hasn't the time.

Swinging her legs out of bed, she grabs the IV stand, and reaching up, unhooks the hanging bag of medication. Still keeping a careful watch upon the door, she carries the bag and now loose plastic tubing as if still tethered to it; for the moment, it will serve her well as a cover. She moves quickly to the small dresser next to the bathroom with her personal belongings inside. She yanks open the drawer and gets her stuff, quickly heads into the bathroom, and locks the door behind her.

Less than 15 minutes later, she is gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Expiation: Chapter 13

Part II: Propitiation

He decides to take a walk down the corridor, hoping that cooler heads will prevail—for each of them.

As he rounds the corridor, he almost collides with the ginger haired doctor, whose name Harry has, uncharacteristically, forgotten.

"Sorry." Both say, sidestepping one another.

"I need to speak to you," Harry says.

"Well, let's head down to her room because it will be helpful if you are there as well."

"Why?"

"She needs to stay a while longer."

Harry nods stiffly. "Tell me what you've found."

"You understand that generally, I do not discuss—"

"And I thought that _you_ understood," he says, glancing at the name tag affixed to the lab coat, "Dr. McBride, that this is a special circumstance."

"I do," McBride says, leading Harry to a quiet area of the corridor.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry asks.

"She needs to be monitored; her electrolytes are still not where they should be."

"That's…"

"Potentially very serious. It can lead to cardiac arrest, but," he adds at the look on Harry's face, "she's being treated for it, and her first EKG was normal—so far. But we need to find out _why_ her electrolytes are abnormal. There are a myriad of reasons —"

"She's not eating." Harry blurts out. "And not sleeping well, either."

"I see." The doctor pauses. "Is this what you wanted to speak to me about?"

"She's under some…strain."

"From her job?"

Harry doesn't answer.

"Let's go to her room," McBride says.

Harry nods, and says nothing until they are just outside her door. "She's a little…she's not happy with me at the moment. I'll be right outside."

McBride looks at Harry for a beat before he enters Ruth's room. But in seconds, he's back. "She's not here," he says. "Let me check out front; she might be—"

Harry brushes past him and goes immediately over to the small chest of drawers. Inside, it's empty—except for the plastic tubing left behind.

* * *

He glares at the health care workers behind the desk, McBride, and anyone else near him. "What do you mean you don't know where she is?" There is an immediate hush in the corridor, all heads turning toward him. Someone picks up a phone behind the desk, and someone else presses a light on another phone.

Ignoring the sudden flurry of activity, Harry flips open his mobile, heading for the nearest exit. He knows exactly where he needs to be, and it's not here.

* * *

As he enters the Grid, it grinds to a halt. Dmitri and Tariq, at their work stations, exchange glances; Lucas, mere steps from Harry, begins to speak.

Holding his hand up at Lucas, Harry continues his conversation on the phone. "Because of your incompetence, a patient of yours, and a valued member of my team, is now missing."

The voice on the other end of the phone tries to explain. "Sir Harry, if you will –"

"—Don't 'Sir Harry' me. Search the premises. Again. And, I warn you, if anything happens to Miss Evershed…" He snaps his mobile shut. "Tariq!" He says, heading over towards the young man, "What have you found?"

He looks up at Harry, eyes wide. "But, Harry, I don't understand. Why are we—"

"What part of my command did you not understand?"

Tariq's hands fly over his keyboard.

"Here," Tariq says. "ATM cashpoint about two miles east of St. Charles. She withdrew…" and his eyes open even wider. "A lot of money," he says.

"When was that?" Harry asks, leaning over Tariq's shoulder.

"About 60…63 minutes ago, to be exact. " He peers again at the screen. "Wait. Here. 30 minutes ago. St. Pancras. She bought a ticket for Lille using her credit card."

Harry frowns at the monitor.

Lucas says, "I'll head there—see if I can—"

"No." Harry says, not looking up, "She has no intention of going to Lille."

"But she's bought a ticket." Tariq says, not understanding why Ruth is doing what she is doing, and why exactly Harry's tracking her. But he decides to keep his mouth shut at least for the moment.

"She's a born spook, for god's sake," Harry says to no one in particular, "She's deliberately leading us astray."

Tariq nods. "Then it makes sense, knowing her," He says. "But why," he asks, his youthful curiosity finally getting the best of him, "_is_ she leading us astray?"

Harry doesn't answer, but he has a pretty good idea.

* * *

Naturally, as much as she wants to just go back home, she realizes she cannot, not anymore. Harry, she is certain, has read her journal. _He thinks I'm bonkers. Bonkers. And then what? A facility?_ And all due to that infernal journal, she thinks, which she knows he found and read. _Damn him._

For the umpteenth since she left the hospital, she berates herself for keeping that all important page in her journal instead of just ripping it out and burning it like all the other pages she writes and destroys, night after night. _But, no_, she chides herself, _because of my_ i_ndulgence_... S_tupid, stupid...…_

She is so angry at him and herself that there is no room for mortification. That, she knows, will come later, and she shudders to even think about visualizing him reading her innermost thoughts especially those about him. But now, her anger fuels her through the London streets and gives her clarity of vision. And so, she focuses on that tender mercy.

She also finds it richly ironic that just a short while ago, she was actually wavering in her resolve; that she feared she would crumple without her journal, her writings and her memories, and turn to him at last. Allow herself to be lo—

She must not dwell any of it. She knows her window of opportunity to leave London—and him, is an exceedingly small one. Yet with her unique knowledge of the CCTV cameras, its blind spots, her level of clearance, and her rare talent for analysis, it is still possible.

And she _must_ leave.

She realizes too late that she doesn't need her journal. Every word she has written is seared onto her soul. And from it she will draw the strength to pay for her sins—and leave Harry forever.

But he's watching her, or will be very soon, she knows. So she does the only thing she can do at this point: use what she knows to obfuscate the situation; it will cost her time, but conversely, it will also buy her time, until of course, he figures it out. And she knows without a shadow of a doubt, that he will.

She just needs to be gone before that happens.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warning: rated M for mature themes**

**(And major angst: Sorry, but the muses insisted!)**

_Oh, but take heart: Sir Harry is on his way…._

Harry sits in his office, an untouched glass of whiskey in front of him. He replays his conversation with her in hospital and berates himself; leaving her unsupervised when she was obviously in such a state was an unforgivable breech of every instinct he has. But with Ruth… He shakes his head, starring at the glass and seeing her there—so very angry with him, and yet—so very vulnerable.

Except for the last image of her, at a phone Kiosk purchasing a pay-as-you-go mobile, there has been no other sightings of Ruth. He rubs his face._ Four hours now. Where are you?_

He gets up suddenly, almost knocking over the glass. Grabbing his coat, he steps out of his office.

"Harry?" Dimitri says, just outside the glass cubicle.

"Have you-"?

Dimitri shakes his head. "Not since the kiosk," he says.

"I'll be…" He jerks his chin vaguely past the glass doors "Call me if…"

"Of course," Dimitri says as Harry leaves the Grid.

Just moments later, his mobile rings.

"Yes?"

"Harry."

"Beth." He says. "Where are you?"

"I'm still…in China."

"Did I not tell you to—?"

"Kai is dead."

Harry closes his eyes. "What happened?"

"He …killed himself."

"How do you know this for certain?"

"I saw him…his body. He hung himself."

"I'm sorry." He sighs. "Aside from the personal tragedy, this is-"

"The Chinese are blaming me."

"What?"

"They say it's my fault; that I somehow...confused him... made him feel guilty."

"That's obscene."

"Where are you now?" He says into the silence.

"Beijing. At our embassy."

"Then they can't really –"

"I know. But.."

"Hold on." He presses the call waiting key. "Home Secretary." Harry says, not surprised at all when he hears the voice on the other end.

"What the hell happened?"

"You cannot blame my officer—"

"The Chinese certainly are, and that's all that matters."

"She went there, Home Secretary, to try and help him, and now they want to exploit this."

"What a cock-up," The HS says.

"Yes. But still not her fault."

"It appears the Chinese do not agree with you."

"Kai was …a tormented man." Harry says, ignoring the sarcasm. "That and I trust my officer, even if we do not have all the facts, yet."

"The facts are he's dead. Do try to keep that in mind, will you?" And with that, he rings off.

Despite the brevity of the conversation, Harry knows that the issue is far from over. He takes the lift to the top, and then walks the final steps up to the roof.

The wind whips around him, but he welcomes it, hoping it will help clear his mind. Looking out over the London Skyline, he's struck by the thought that Ruth is not by his side as she is so very often here on the rooftop. He wonders when this actually happened—that the rooftop became their place. Perhaps it is the only place—the only intimacy they will really ever have.

The wind stings his eyes, and he remembers not so long ago when he hid his tears—and his heartbreak over the cruelty of men from her, blaming instead, the wind. And I accuse her of not being honest- -

He straightens up. This is getting him nowhere, and he knows it.

But as he gazes at the city, it feels—empty. Different. And it's not just that he is alone on the rooftop. It hits him, then: she is no longer in London.

* * *

The cobblestone streets trip her up from time to time, her small heels catching on the uneven stones. But she manages, thankful for the crowds, many laughing, their coats open, enjoying the unusual mild fall weather, as they pass her by. She makes her way over to a mountain of bicycles leaning haphazardly against the railing just above the canal. Picking one out of the pile as casually as she can, she gets on somewhat awkwardly, her long skirt in the way at first. She adjusts it, and then begins to pedal down the narrow street. She swerves to avoid a crowd of teenagers, and just misses crashing into another cyclist.

"Sorr…"

The other cyclist whizzes by her, not seeming to care, or even notice her ineptitude.

Concentrate. You can do this.

The sun is out, but it fails to warm her. Stopping the bike near a tree close to the canal, she forces herself to eat an energy bar. She chokes it down and drinks some water too quickly, splashing some on herself. She shivers a bit, pulling her coat up around her some more. She has little time for her next contact, but it is imperative that she keep up her strength.

Nothing must get in the way—not hunger, thirst, the fatigue that threatens to engulf her, nor the cold she feels down to her very marrow. She must see him one last time before Harry finds her. After that, it won't much matter.

She gets back on the bike and pedals on.

"Amsterdam?" Harry says, phone pressed to his ear, as he heads back to the Grid.

"Yes," Dimitri says on the other end. "We're fairly certain—"

"Fairly certain?"

"Certain. It's her. Do you know why she'd go there?"

Harry frowns. "I don't think that's her true destination." He hangs up as he steps into the Grid, and goes directly into his office, saying nothing more to Dmitri, whose quiet eyes follow Harry the whole time.

He slides the heavy door shut, and sitting down, flips open his mobile again. But his time, he scrolls through it until her journal comes up. And for the first time since he copied it, he reads it, again and again, until he has practically memorised it.

He snaps it shut, shaking his head at his own obtuseness. Of course. Of course. He chides himself once again for not thinking clearly where she is concerned. No more mistakes.

He picks up his office phone and makes a quick call, then leaves the Grid saying little. He knows that there will be hell to pay when he comes back, but he will think about that later.

When his car pulls up in front of Thames House, he gets in. "Heathrow." He says.

The streets pass by as his driver steps on the gas. She may be a born spook, he thinks, but he's a self-made one. And now that he knows where she is going, he knows as well that it is only a matter of time until he finds her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Many thanks to those who are reading and leaving feedback! Knowing that others are doing so nourishes the soul (and helps me to post faster), too. :)**

**Now, on with the show**...

Chapter 15: Part II Propitiation

* * *

Against all odds, she manages to meet her contact and with minutes to spare, makes the flight. Now, blanket on lap, her head against the window, she immediately falls asleep—as the city of Amsterdam vanishes beneath the clouds.

She dreams.

* * *

Harry steps off the plane, overcoat draped over his arm, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his tie only a memory.

The weather is delightful; a light breeze, the sky a brilliant blue—the very color of her—

_Focus._

At customs, he's viewed with some consternation: he has no luggage, no real itinerary, and speaks little to none of the native language. He finds it richly ironic that the one person who can actually speak the language is the very person he seeks.

His sparse hair flying around his head—despite trying to tame it with one hand— does not inspire confidence with security either. He is also sure that his underlying anxiety which seems to radiate forth from him despite his best efforts to curb it, sets the officials on edge. Then again, he thinks, it is possible that he is just projecting his own sensibilities as a spy.

At any rate, after he shows his ID, and has a brief conversation in a private room, they let him through with their apologies. Finally making his way to the exit and the numerous taxis just outside, he chastises himself for his lack of professionalism. _You're wasting time._

A cab pulls up immediately, and Harry gives the driver the address from Malcolm, who although recently retired, lost no time in putting together his considerable computer skills—and knowledge of all things Ruth—for Harry.

Although memorized, Harry continues to stares down at the map and address now stored on his mobile. He wonders if Ruth has the same information; yet he knows it doesn't really matter because their paths will inevitably cross; he is sure of this. He is far less sure, however, what he will do when he does find her.

* * *

"Excuse me, Miss. We've landed." The flight attendant gently nudges Ruth. She opens her eyes and for a moment, stares blankly at the attendant.

"Are you all right?" the flight attendant asks, her dark brown eyes filled with concern.

The fog lifts, and her eyes clear. "Of course, yes…just fell into a deep sleep… long day." Ruth says, then flashes a smile.

The flight attendant nods sympathetically and moves down the aisle, lifting trays, righting seats, and collecting any rubbish left behind by the other passengers.

Ruth stands, and the near empty plane tilts. Gripping the seat in front of her, she waits until the dizziness passes. She cannot afford, she knows, to faint. Not here. Not now-when she is so very close to her objective. When it does pass, she carefully gathers her things—a canvas bag which she slings diagonally across her front—and a hat that she purchased in Amsterdam. She checks again for her ID—and new name given to her in Amsterdam along with the warning not to return for any more favors.

The warning is superfluous; she has no intention of returning there or to London; unless of course, she is actually forced to return home. But the truth is she has no plans other than the immediate one in front of her: to see him—one last time.

* * *

Harry checks the coordinates on his mobile once again. Thankfully, it is no longer the tourist season, and the taxi easily negotiates through the center of town, winding its way through the charming streets. Cafes and small shops dot the village. But as the miles pass by, the sea begins to fade in the distance; soon olive groves, rolling hills and flowering shrubs appear; a faint scent of lemon and thyme scents the gentle air. For just a moment, Harry closes his eyes, taking in the natural beauty of the area. Then he opens them again, willing the cab to drive faster to its destination.

* * *

"Excuse, me," Ruth says, in near flawless Greek, "I'm a relative of George Papadakis's family. Do you know where they've moved to?"

The shop keeper, standing beneath an awning next to his café, looks at her closely. "Forgive me, but if you're a relative, why do you not know where they live?"

"I'm a cousin of George—through marriage. And since I am here on business, I wanted to pay my respects to his sister, Athena, and of course, his son, Nico. But I know they are no longer in their family home—and," she adds, "I have such little time here. It would be a shame to miss them."

The shopkeeper, a stranger and chosen for that very reason by Ruth, stares at her for a long moment. "Your Greek is almost perfect. Where did you say you were from?"

"The Netherlands," she says without hesitation and smiles. "I teach languages at the university there."

"Ah. A teacher." He says, then nothing else, still studying the petite woman with the straw hat and long flowing skirt.

"I..." she makes a move to go, "I understand. I'm a stranger, here."

He looks at the traveler again. She looks harmless enough and in fact, looks exhausted; even under the hat, dark circles are visible under her lovely eyes. She looks as if she might cry at any moment, too.

"Well," he says, his inherent kindness overruling any suspicions, "I am sorry to tell you, but you are on the wrong island. The family is no longer on Cyprus."

A wave of nausea hits her, but she swallows it down. "Oh, dear. What a shame. I had hoped to visit them, but now I cannot; my plane leaves in a few hours."

"Yes. That is a shame," he says, nodding. "Perhaps," he adds "you would like something to drink for the journey home?"

"That would be wonderful," Ruth says, and immediately sits down in one of the café chairs under the awning. When he brings her a glass of water with lemon a few minutes later, she asks casually, "Where did you say they moved to?"


	16. Chapter 16

**EXPIATION** **16 **

** Yes. This IS a new chapter. I had some, um, technical difficulties-once again-for those who may have received (false) alerts previously. (Oh, where is Malcolm when one needs him?)**

**Thanks for staying with the story, my obtuseness, and more happily, for your feedback!**

**:)**

**Part II Propitiation **

"Harry." Dimitri tells him over the phone, "She flew from to Amsterdam to Cyprus, landing at Paphos International."

He nods. _So she didn't have the right information. _He feels a stab of pain for what she must have felt when she realized she was on the wrong island." "When?"

"Just confirmed. A little over 5 hours ago. And there's more. Another image in the village there—not far where she used to live."

_Polis. _He thinks. "How long ago?"

"Three hours." Dimitri replies.

"And the school?"

"Nothing."

_No, not nothing. Not Ruth. _But he says only, "And their old house?" _George and Nico. Ruth._

"No. Either she's –"

"She's good...is what she is. Don't waste any more time there," he instructs him. "She'll figure it out if she hasn't already." Despite his anxiety, he can't help but feel pride for her. _Born spook. Yes. _

"Search the ports."

"She'll have to fly back to Athens." Dimitri says, "to get to Crete."

"No," Harry says. She'll take a ferry over."

"Those ferries are closed at this time of year." Dimitri insists.

"She'll find someone to take her across."

"Then she'll need a lot of money," Dimitri concedes.

"She has," Harry hears Tariq say in the background. "A lot."

Harry nods automatically. "Check the car rentals, taxis, too. Once she gets here, it's only about 20 miles from the port. The school's not far from the house. Don't forget to check there as well."

"I've got a good image of that. Don't worry, Harry," Tariq says with both techno pride and youthful optimism.

_Don't worry?_ "Call me as soon as you pick up anything."

"Harry?" Dimitri interjects before the other can hang up.

"Yes?"

"Have you reconsidered about asking the local authority to—"

"Absolutely not. I thought I made myself clear to you._ I_ will handle this. She is not a criminal for Christ's sake! And I don't want strangers accosting her as if she is. Do you understand?"

"I only meant—"

"I will handle this." He repeats. "Understood?"

"Of course." Dimitri, says quietly. "I understand."

"See that you do. All of you." He flips the phone shut.

He begins to pace about in the room. The room is in a villa which itself is surrounded by rolling hills. Most in the rural village there have olive groves and spend much of the day caring for them.

The room is lovely. It has one stone wall with a tall dresser and chair next to it. Opposite the stone wall is a large and comfortable bed. The remaining walls are soft taupe. The windows are open and a gentle breeze comes through them, filtered by the sheer curtains hanging there. It's a quiet and serene place which perfectly reflects the land and its people.

But Harry's neither quiet nor serene. He continues to pace for a few more moments. Then slipping his shoes back on, he heads to the main room in search of the owner. He finds her right outside, watering a plant. She looks up at smiles at him as he approaches.

"Have you found everything to your liking?" She asks him, speaking English with a charming Greek accent.

"Yes, lovely," he says and smiles back." Everything I could have asked for." He nods benignly at her. "Your husband mentioned that I can rent one of your cars?"

She nods. "Yes." She replies, "Of course. And it's so much safer than those …motorbikes." She sighs. "So many accidents lately."

Harry nods sympathetically. "I'm much too old and sensible for them," he says and smiles his most charming smile.

"You are far from old, Mr. Graham. But I am very glad that you are sensible."

"Henry, please." He says, still smiling.

"And you must call me Melia." She smiles back at him, showing teeth very white against her light olive complexion. "So, Henry," she continues, "You will ride around and see our beautiful homes? And maybe buy something?" She gestures vaguely towards the rolling hills and valley in the distance.

"Yes. My wife and I really fell in love with Crete on our honeymoon which is why we're looking to retire here."

"You certainly have come to the right place. It is so very beautiful. And," her dark eyes sparkle, "romantic." "But tell me, Henry, your wife speaks Greek?"

Harry smiles. "Perfectly. She's a teacher."

"Oh, and she will teach you then?" She smiles again at him.

"She tries, but I'm a bit of a dunce, I'm afraid. Thankfully, she's the scholar in the family. "

"Ah. She knows the Classics?"

"That's what she teaches, actually. Classics. And reads them in the original language as well," he says unconsciously standing straighter than a moment ago.

The woman beams. "But I am keeping you," she says. "Come. My husband and I will show you the choice of car. We have only two, but the choice is yours."

Mere minutes later, after thanking his hosts, Harry gets in the Hyundai Atos. It's grey and although not new, it is immaculate and more than adequate. After thanking his hosts, he starts the car. But before he heads to his true destination, he drives to a local shop not far from the villa. To his relief, it has everything he needs.

After he's made his purchases, he drives down to George's sister's house, a few miles from Melia's place. Situated on a hill, it's a two storey stone villa with tall arched doorways. There's a stone wall that surrounds it and a wrought iron fence around the entire property. An electric gate completes the security. Tall bushes and shrubs shield it even more from the curious. In fact, if not for Malcolm's meticulous directions, he would have missed it. Yet, the house is also inviting. The natural landscaping around the villa is both pleasing to the eye even as it conceals.

He drives slowly but not too slowly past the grounds, taking care not to raise suspicion. It appears, however, that no one is home, except for a small grey cat perched on top of the stone wall looking down at him, watching his every move.

He drives past, finally, and about a half-mile down the road, he finds what he is looking for. He stops the car, pulling it off the winding road and tucking it next to some shrubs and bushes. As soon as he shuts the car off, he grabs his knapsack from the passenger's seat. Then he sets back out again to Athena's house.

The sun blazes down on him, and he's thankful for the hat he's wearing. With his rolled-up shirt sleeves and the khaki pants and hat he purchased, he might just blend in, he thinks. That, and he can always say he's just checking the area for real estate; being a guest at Melia's house helps, too.

He sees few people about and those are distant figures in the countryside, perhaps caring for their groves. There are even fewer cars on the winding road which is the only road leading to and back from village and town.

In less than ten minutes, Harry is where he needs to be. He settles in the spot that he picked on his previous inspection. He is perfectly concealed, yet able to see the vista—and the road—in front of him. He feels not unlike a hunter, waiting for his prey. But he means her no harm, nor is he in the hunt to affirm his ego. He is there for her. And only her.

But will she trust him? For a split second, he questions his plan. But he knows he has no other choice. And so, opening his knapsack, he takes out his field glasses and scans the long and winding road ahead.

He knows it won't be long now.


	17. Chapter 17

_H/R: Soon! :) _

**As ever, thanks for your feedback!**

Expiation Part II

Propitiation: Chapter 17:

The banging and the loud voices above wake her. She pulls herself into a sitting position. And yawns. Her throat hurts, and the headache that started in Amsterdam and followed her to Cyprus, is back. She's also chilled despite the mildness of the temperature.

"Jo! We're here."

"Coming!" She yells upwards. "I'm coming."

She almost slips on the few steps leading topside. On deck, she squints against the brilliance of the light, shielding her eyes; her hat lost somehow in her travels. She doesn't remember losing it either, which she finds equally troublesome. But she still has her canvas bag, still slung across her front, and that's all that really matters to her.

The captain of the tug is standing there, waiting for her. "It's best if you stay port side for a few minutes." He points to some out-sized boxes and crates the men are unloading. She nods.

She steals a look at Captain Stefanos. Middle aged, a life at sea, he has the face to prove it. He wears a navy blue cap, a faded denim shirt, and jeans that match his shirt. On his feet he wears navy blue sneakers with no laces as well.

He turns to her suddenly. "Are you alright?" He asks.

'I'm fine." She says and manages a smile at him.

"Not so bad, yes?"

She nods. "It was fine. You're a good captain. Thank you for taking me across."

He smiles, and then turns to one of his men. "Easy with that! " And goes over to help them maneuver another crate off the tug.

It's true. She's lucky to have found him. After asking around on the docks in Cyprus, no one wanted to take the lone woman with the sad eyes across the water. But she was finally led to him, and he agreed to take her across for a price and a fair one, she believes. Yet when she pulled out her money, she felt the eyes of some of the men on the boat watching her. She promised herself to be more careful in the future, keeping her bag on her the entire voyage.

"So," he says turning back to her, "you will soon be with your friends, yes?"

She nods. "Yes. But I'll still need transportation."

"That's no problem. There are many taxis, as you know. Or if you prefer, you can rent a car or motorbike—always popular, of course."

She nods at him. But she has no intention of driving much as she would like to. She doesn't think she has the strength to actually steer a car especially through the countryside, let alone up and down a winding road. _Later,_ she says to herself. _After I get some sleep._

She yawns again. "Sorry," she says.

"Not the most comfortable place to sleep," he says, jerking his chin below deck.

"No, you've been very kind," she says and means it.

He nods, his eyes on her. "Your friends will take care of you?"

"Yes. They will. Thank you."

He says nothing else. She is not the first passenger with a secret, and he knows she will be far from the last. When the men finish unloading, he motions to the gangway. She takes a few steps and sways. Stefanos goes over to her and steadies her a bit.

"I don't have my legs, yet, I guess," she says.

"You are sure you're all right?"

"Quite. Thank you. I'll be fine."

"Goodbye then," he says, extending his hand. "And if you need passage back, you know where to find me."

"I do," she says, shaking his hand. " And I just might take you up on that. Thank you."

He watches the woman called Jo walk slowly down the gangway.

* * *

Stefanos is not the only one watching her. But Ruth is too tired to notice. She focuses on getting to her destination and little else. That and staying upright. She has a sense of urgency that time is running out.

Her money is running out as well. She can withdraw more of course, but that would send alarms. And Harry, no doubt. Or someone sent by him.

Later on, it won't matter. Very little will. But she has no intention of anyone keeping her from her goal. Nothing must stand in her way of seeing him. He is all that she has thought about since leaving London. His laughter in Amsterdam. The sparkle in his eyes in Cyprus. His dimples across the water. All of him and her memories of their time together in Polis, sustains her through her dizziness, her headaches, her sore throat and more recently, her heart that at odd times has begun to thump rapidly in her chest. But she is here now, only miles from him and her loving arms. Not just in her mind's eye. For real.

He's her child of her heart, her soul, and no one, nothing, - even if it's for the last time—will get in the way of seeing her boy again. The thought supports her and nourishes her. She walks a little steadier. She carries on.


	18. Chapter 18

Dear Readers: Your feedback is a joy to behold. THANK YOU.

H/R:Soon, very soon. _Promise!_

:)

EXPIATION Part II

Chapter 18: Propitiation

"Taxi."

A black unmarked car pulls alongside her. "Taxi," he says again.

Ruth looks at the car. The driver is half in the shadow but from what she can make out, appears to be a man in his thirties or so.

"I'm going up the mountain," she says in Greek. "How much?"

He hesitates for a moment then quotes a price.

"Too high," she says and continues walking.

"It is," a voice in English says, practically in her ear.

She turns, startled. The young man at her side looks familiar. Before she can process who he is, he says, "I was with Stefanos on the tug."

She nods. "Oh. Right."

"I'm going all the way up the mountain, too," he says. "I can give you a lift if you want, at half the price he quoted you." She follows his gaze towards the taxi just down the street and now picking up a fare.

Then he points to a motorbike a few feet away, parked right outside a shop window.

"It's safe," he says at her expression. "We use them all the time here."

"Oh, yes, I know," she says. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"I promise to drive safely, too. And," he says, looking directly at her, smiling a bit sheepishly, "I can really use the money." He pauses before going on. "Stefanos is a nice guy, but …well, the job doesn't pay that much."

She smiles sympathetically despite a nagging thought floating around in her head. If only she could just focus, she thinks. Then she could figure out what it is that troubles her. Being below deck in the tug certainly didn't help her headache, either. She looks again at him. Maybe the mountain air is exactly what she needs to clear her mind.

"My name's Steve, by the way." And he offers her his hand.

"R…Jo." She says, taking his hand. She chastises herself roundly for almost slipping up. She really needs to get some sleep. Real sleep. And soon, she thinks.

"Is it a deal?" He asks, cutting into her thoughts.

She looks back up at him. "How much did you say?"

He names a price, and she nods. "That's fair. More than fair." She nods then and reaches for her canvas bag slung across her front.

"Oh, pay me later—when we get there," he says, immediately handing her a helmet.

"You sure?"

"Sure," he says. He gets on the bike, straddling it. "I trust you." And he smiles again at her, waiting for her to get on.

She manages, even with her long skirt, tucking it around her legs somewhat. She readjusts her canvas bag as well. Then she puts on the helmet, tightening the straps.

"Ready?" He says, looking back at her.

She nods and smiles tentatively.

"Hold on," he says.

She does, and he starts it up.

He drives carefully, and in a short while she begins to enjoy the ride. The air does feel good, and she can feel the tension leaving her body with each passing mile. As the town becomes just a dot in the landscape, she takes note of the sheer beauty of the land, its gentle rolling hills, the groves that soon dominate the countryside, and the faint scent of lemon in the air. She begins to relax. Yes. This is just what she needs.

He drives on, the winding road taking her closer and closer to her objective.

She loses track of time.

Then the bike slows down.

He turns his head to her saying something, but it is swallowed by the wind and the noise from the motorbike.

"What?" she yells towards his back. "I can't hear you."

He slows the bike even more. Then he stops.

"What is it?" She asks.

He turns to her. "You hear that?" He asks.

"Hear what?"

"I think it's the chain." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I have to check it out." But he remains seated.

She sits there, puzzled. Then it dawns on her. "Oh," she says. "Sorry." She gets off first as he straddles the bike, balancing it until she is clear.

He gets off right after, pushing the kickstand down with his foot.

"Excuse me." He says and walks past her a bit.

She stands there, uncertain what to do as he goes to the back wheel and bends down. She looks around. It is a particularly lonely stretch of the area, she notices for the first time. No one is in sight, on the road, or even in the distant hills.

She turns her attention back to him. Still crouching, he looks back up to her. "You see that?" He says.

She bends a bit and peers at the wheel.

It happens so quickly, it barely registers.

In seconds, her bag is ripped off her shoulder, and she is looking up at the blue sky.

"Stop." She says, flat on her back, her head spinning. "Stop." She reaches out, but he is gone, roaring off with her bag and all of her money.

She puts her hand to her spinning head. When it clears, she pushes herself into a sitting position. She takes another look around. She is still alone. She sees no one, not a house. Not even in the distance. Nothing.

She chides herself for being off of her game so badly. Shaking her head, she reaches into her pocket. Then the awful realization hits her. Her mobile is in her canvas bag, too.

She sighs. She does the only thing she can do under the circumstances. She picks herself up, brushes the dirt off, and begins to walk.


	19. Chapter 19

H/R: (Almost); And I will do my best to not "leave you hanging"! But this story has a life of its own, and as such, has to take its time telling it. But please, keep the faith! Thanks for your interest/reviews.. EVERYONE!:)

19

Still scanning the countryside and winding road in the distance, Harry finally sees something of interest. It appears to be a vehicle of some sort. A car. He focuses the lens a bit, and the image becomes sharper. He holds his breath, steadying the glasses, and the image stops wavering. As he watches, the car grows larger and larger. A woman at the wheel comes into his vision. She has dark hair and wears sunglasses.

The car appears to slow down as well. Dropping the glasses to his side, he presses himself into the foliage even more.

In minutes, the black car passes him, slows, then goes down the road a bit more.

It stops at the electric gate. Slowly, the gate opens, and the driver goes through and begins to climb up the driveway and around the property, higher and higher until it wraps itself around the house somewhere out of Harry's vantage point. But when the car doors open and shut from above, he is able to hear voices.

And the unmistakable sound of a child's laughter.

"Nico!" A woman calls out, laughing as well.

There is no answer except a squeal and a splash of water, followed by more laughter just seconds later. A chair scrapes against a patio, and more splashing is heard. "Nico!" The woman says again, still with no real discipline in her voice. She says something to the child in a melodious voice and the boy answers, but Harry cannot understand what they are saying. It immediately registers to him that the woman and the boy are speaking Greek. But the laughter and splashing is universal and as such needs no translation.

He closes his eyes for a moment and nods.

More laughter and splashing are heard from above. Harry tries for a moment to peer through the thick foliage above with his glasses, but the cover is too dense to see anything. He soon gives up. Then he turns his attention back to the road and countryside.

He lifts his binoculars to his eyes once more.

Except for Nico, and presumably his Aunt Athena, there has been no other movement on the road except for some animals, most of them domestic. Hours have passed with no sign of her. And no one at the Grid has seen nor heard anything new except for their last report: A woman fitting Ruth's description was seen on the docks of Cyprus. But after that, there is nothing else to report despite his incessant phone calls to them.

Something's wrong. She should be here by now. His stomach lurches when he thinks of all that could happen—could have happened to her, a woman alone— and one who is ill.

He considers walking back to the car and perhaps driving down the road. Anything has to be better than hiding and waiting for her, doing nothing when she might be in real trouble. But he stays where he is for the moment. If she should suddenly show up in a car or motorbike while he is walking back to his car, that would be disastrous; he would be unable to head her off and reason with her. Talk to her. Appeal to her, using the only weapon he has—something they both have in common. Something perhaps that Ruth has forgotten, or in her pain does not quite realize. But he saves that for later; thinking about it now only makes him lose focus to the task at hand.

_Yes_. As much as this current plan leaves a great deal to be desired, it's the only one he can think of given the terrain and of course, Ruth.

He lifts the glasses back up to his tired eyes. The changing angle of the sun is making it even more difficult. He squints against the glare. Rubbing his eyes again, he squints some more.

A speck, more like a smudge, comes into his vision. Unconsciously he physically leans into the picture some more, losing the image when he does so. He steadies the glasses and the image. There is definitely something in the distance moving slowly, very slowly, and making its way up the mountain. But it barely changes size at all as he watches it. Is it an animal?

No. Not an animal.

_Ruth. _


	20. Chapter 20

**H/R. _Yes_. (BTW, the muses are being very generous today; in fact, they might let me post one, two (maybe three!) more chapters before the day is through. *bows down before them***

Chapter 20:

Propitiation

She trudges on no longer aware of the shiny black helmet she still holds by its strap, dangling uselessly from her hand. It bangs into her side with almost every step she takes, but it has long become a part of her, and she no longer registers it. But even if it did, she could no more relinquish her hold on it now any more than before when she first picked herself up from the ground. The countryside is pristine, too unspoiled, and she cannot, will not, desecrate it any more than she would her memory of such a people and their common land.

She weaves a bit. But doesn't stop. The sun is going down, and the temperature is dropping. Soon the light will be gone and she needs to reach her destination before that happens. But if she cannot, she will sleep on the mountain. Alone. And start again at first light. She can do nothing else.

She tries not to swallow because every time she does, it hurts. It seems there's no more saliva left, and she cannot remember when she last drank. Not for the first time she looks at the foliage and thinks perhaps she can find something to sustain her. Berries. Leaves. Blossoms. Perhaps an olive. But she does not stop and continues to pass by the fertile land and rolling countryside.

Her headache her only companion, she stumbles a bit over a stone, but she rights herself. The road has to end somewhere, she tells herself. The house—and he—must be somewhere. She runs the address through her mind again, thankful for the kind shopkeeper in Cyprus. But that seemed ages ago. Everything seems ages ago. Harry. George. Nico.

_Harry. _

She stumbles on.

* * *

The image in the field glass grows. Something odd is also hanging from the figure, a black object of some sort.

_And why is she walking? Impossible. _But it's Ruth. With her, nothing is impossible.

And even though he cannot actually see her features, his heart knows it is Ruth. True, the distance is still too large for a clear image, and his field glasses are only basic ones. But it's undeniably her. His emotions are a jumble of relief and dread at the same time.

He continues to peer through the lenses, still trying to figure out why she is actually walking, and then he stops breathing. The figure appears to stumble. She falls.

He's seen enough.

He moves from his hiding place as inconspicuously as possible, walking quickly away from the house. When he's certain he can no longer be seen from the premises, he breaks into a run towards the car.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

His heart pounding, he keeps up the pace, sure that his heart will burst out of his chest. Panting, he finally reaches the car and gets in.

His careful plan now shot to hell, he starts the car and drives, closing the distance between him and her in minutes.

When he is about 20 feet from her, he swerves the car off of the road. He gets out, motor running, door still open.

He closes the gap in seconds. "Ruth," he says breathlessly. "Ruth."

She walks right past him.

"Ruth." He says again. He takes her free arm, taking note of her dreadful appearance and the helmet in her other hand.

"Let me go, Harry." She says, turning around, stopping. She seems not surprised at all to see him standing there right in front of her. She tries to break away. But she has little strength left and his grasp, though gentle, is firm.

"Ruth," he says once more, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. "Are you hurt? Were you in an accident?"

"Let me go," is all she says to him, not looking at him.

Still he holds fast. "Let me help you. Please."

She stops and looks at him for the first time. Her face, streaked with dirt and sweat, just about breaks his heart. "Are you hurt?" He asks again.

She breaks eye contact with him, looking beyond. "Is that your car?" She asks, knowing the answer.

He nods. "Yes. Let me—"

"You can take me to Nico's house," she says," her eyes still fixed on the car. "Where he lives with his aunt. I am sure you know where it is."

They stand there then, Harry holding her arm, her eyes off in the distance, the car's motor running in the silent countryside. And it is then that he knows everything he says from this point matters. More than his job. His life. Even her feelings for him. Nothing else matters except her.

He takes a breath before he begins to speak.


	21. Chapter 21

H/R Yep. (As promised.) :)

Propitiation Part II (Part three coming soon!)

Chapter 21

"Ruth. Let's go to the car, all right?"

She looks at him then, her eyes guarded. But she is at least looking at him. She nods. They begin to walk, his hand still on her arm.

But after just a few steps, she stops. "I warn you, Harry. If you try anything funny, I will never speak to you again."

He believes what she says unequivocally. "I only want you to sit down, drink some water and listen to what I have to say. Nothing more." He says softly. "And then, if you still want me to –"

"I will. Make no mistake about that." Her voice is surprisingly strong despite her frail appearance.

"I give you my word."

She says nothing, just stands there, swaying ever so slightly in the road.

He tightens his grip on her. Then gently, he takes the useless helmet from her, and slowly, leads her over to the car. She lets him do so which pleases him right down to his core. He savors every moment as well not knowing whether he will ever be this close to her again. Or if she will ever be able to stand his touch again.

Slowly they walk over to the car, crossing the narrow road, and onto the grass, Harry guiding her every step of the way.

When they finally get there, he takes his knapsack off of the passenger seat, and along with the helmet, deposits both onto the grass by his feet. He helps her into the seat, leaving the front door still open. She faces outward, her feet not quite in the car and hanging over the edge a bit. She looks past him towards the distant countryside in the now dusky landscape.

But when he reaches into the knapsack on the grass, her eyes jerk down towards it.

"It's just water, Ruth," he says, opening it and showing her.

She scans the contents and nods, satisfied.

He takes out a water bottle and gives it to her. She says nothing but accepts it. When she tries to open it, she fails.

"Here. Let me," he says gently. In seconds, he opens it. As he hands it back to her, he thinks back to not so long ago when she sat in his office, drinking from another water bottle that he had also opened for her. It just didn't seem possible that so much had happened in so little time. But it had. And now everything will hinge upon how he handles the next few minutes.

He watches quietly as she drinks. After she nearly finishes the bottle, he reaches for another.

She shakes her head.

"Energy bar then?" He says, holding one out to her.

She shakes her head again. "Just take me there." She runs a hand through her greasy hair.

"Ruth."

"Quit stalling, Harry." She says. "Or I swear, I will walk all the way if I have to."

He nods. "I believe you," he says. And he does. "But you said that you would let me speak to you first."

When she nods, he moves in a bit closer, painfully close to her. She is still facing out, but her attention wanders again past him. She shivers a bit.

"Oh. Sorry." And he reaches into the knapsack again, pulling out a lightweight jacket.

She shakes her head once more. But she allows him to drape it across her shoulders. He tries hard not to touch her unnecessarily even though all he wants to do is wrap her in his arms.

"Say what you need to say. I want to get there before it gets any later."

He straightens and moves back just a bit. "I saw Nico today, Ruth."

For the first time since he met her on the road, she looks at him intently. "How... Does he look the same?"

"Actually, I heard him and his aunt, I believe. I couldn't actually see him, Ruth, not from where I was standing. But I heard him, and he sounds…very …happy."

"How do you know it was him, then?"

"She called him by name."

She nods. "What was he saying?"

"He was laughing. Swimming. I believe. They have a pool."

Her eyes glaze a bit, and then she smiles. "Nico is a wonderful swimmer." She swallows and reaches for her bottle again, finishing it. "What else did they say?"

"I couldn't understand. They were speaking Greek, of course."

"Why didn't you just ring the bell? Both of them speak English."

"I didn't think it ...wise."

"Wise?"

"I'm a stranger, Ruth. I didn't want to frighten either of them."

"Well, Harry. I'm not a stranger. And he needs me." Her eyes finally lock on his. "He must think that I've abandoned him." Her eyes begin to fill, but she goes on, her voice growing stronger as she speaks." But I'm here now, and no one will keep us apart. Not anymore."

He nods at that. "Yes. That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"There is nothing to say. You couldn't possibly understand."

"Oh, Ruth," he says, ever so softly. "You couldn't be more wrong."


	22. Chapter 22

**Last chapter for part II. (Yes, there will be a part III.) And thanks again so much for sticking with the story. Your feedback is inspirational! :)**

Chapter 22 Propitiation

"What do you mean?" She says, frowning at him.

He sighs. "I also have a son, Ruth."

She shakes her head. "Harry. No. It's not the same. Graham is an adult."

"Do you really think it's as simple as that?"

She looks at him then. "I didn't mean that…you…don't love him, of course."

He says nothing for a moment. "I…he's my son. He'll always be my son. And no matter how old he is.. the pain knowing he's so unhappy, and that I caused most of it and can do nothing to…" He clears his throat before going on. "I dream about him, you know."

"I didn't know that," she says softly.

"He's always a little boy. In my dreams. About Nico's age. Sometimes younger. Never as a grown-up. "

"Then you understand how much I need to see Nico."

He nods. "I do, Ruth. I do. But as parents, we also bear a grave responsibility for our children."

She nods her head as well. "I know. That's why…"

"Please, I need to finish." When she nods, he clears his throat again. "As you know, Graham is a very confused young man. But if you had only known him as a young child. So much promise. So loving." He pauses then swallows. "A charming little boy. Everyone said so. And he…." He takes a breath. "He used to…I had a nickname for him, you know. Shadow. Because that is what he was. My shadow. When I was home, he never left my side." He looks away from her for a moment, fixing his eyes on the rapidly dimming horizon.

"You cannot blame yourself for his failures, Harry." She says softly.

He looks back at her. "Ah, but as parents we do. We might rationalize or know intellectually that there comes a point when all young people must make their way. Stop blaming their parents for their disappointments..their childhood. But," and he touches his heart, "when your child is in pain, no matter their age, and so …lost, it's hard not to blame ourselves." He sighs. "And the fact is Ruth, most of it _is_ my fault. I _do_ bear responsibility for many of Graham's choices in life. I failed him, Ruth. I was an absent father. And now, when I want so much to … I don't know how to fix it."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she says, "I am." With a shock, he feels the touch of her hand on his arm.

"But what does this really have to with Nico and me?"

"Ruth." He says as gently as he can. "Nico has been traumatised. You know this, of course. But he's happy now. I heard him. The boy is happy."

"Are you saying that he's happy because I'm out of the picture?" She wrenches her hand back.

"No. God, no. That's not what I mean at all. Just let me finish, please," he says, afraid he's making an utter hash out of it all. "I'm simply appealing to you as a mother not to …hurt him."

"You're telling me that I will hurt him?" She makes a move to to get out of the car. "How dare you?"

"Ruth, listen to me. Seeing you like this. Showing up with no invitation..."

"How do you know I'm not invited?" He steps back as she gets up and begins to walk on the grass away from him.

"Did they Ruth? Did they?" He asks, following her.

She stops and turns back to him. "When he sees me—"

"You will frighten him badly. Traumatise him again. And at some point, you will never forgive yourself for doing so."

She looks up at him. "Why would he be traumatised seeing me?"

"Ruth. You will frighten him badly at the very least."

"Why?"

"Have you seen what you look like? Sound like? And to just show up this way?"

She looks down for a moment." I can ….wash up somewhere." She says in a small voice. "Change. You can take me… somewhere."

"It's more than clean clothes. Washing up. Although," he says, kindly, "that would help."

"Then what do you …"

"You're different Ruth," he says as gently as he can. "And you're not acting like the woman he remembers and I'm sure, still loves. You don't sound like her, either." He adds.

"You have no idea how—what we —"

"Ruth," He says, simply, "You are not yourself."

"People change in two years," she says, taking a few steps towards the road.

He keeps in step with her. "Precisely. Two years," he says. "And you want to just show up, unannounced, in their new home. A home," he adds, "that's incidentally, situated high on a hill and shielded by trees with an electric gate. What does that say to you how they feel towards unannounced visitors?"

She stops, and even in the fading light, he can see her face become paler than ever.

"It's …it's because of …"

"What happened. Yes. They want—need to feel safe. Be safe. Don't take that away from them."

"I only need…I want him to know…his father..."

He shakes his head. "Don't place that burden on the child, Ruth. If you need to discuss with someone what happened, that's fine. But not like this."

"But I need to see him," she says, still standing still. "You should understand that, Harry. You made me understand about Graham. Why can't you understand about Nico?"

"Do you need to see him more than protect him?"

She runs her tongue over her dry mouth.

"Ruth. Do you love the boy like a mother?"

"You know I do," she says.

He takes a step closer to her. "Then be his mother. Protect him. Put his needs first."

Her face begins to crumple. "You're saying I can never see…"

"Of course not," he says, and places his hand on her arm. "Of course not. But you need to first take care of yourself. And when you do, I promise I will do everything in my power to help you see him again. The right way. Do you hear me, Ruth? Do you? I give you my word. "

She begins to cry in earnest now, and he moves as close to her as he dares.

"Love him, Ruth. But don't do this to him," he says, so close now that his breath on her face is the only warmth she feels. "Don't put him through another trauma. I'm appealing to you as a parent…a parent who's hurt his own son so badly that his life..That he's never overcome it, and…and… I don't know if … " He starts to tremble. "I'm begging you, Ruth. "Don't hurt that little boy." He says, his voice breaking. "He's been through so much. Protect... him…"

They reach for one another then as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Both of them cling to each other as they weep. And rocking back and forth, they continue to hold onto another as they cry for their lost little boys.

End of Part II Propitiation


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer:_ Dear Kudos: I know they are not mine, but I wish they were. _**

**_Yours truly, A fan._**

Part III Reconciliation:

As naturally as they had reached for one another, they draw apart. But they do so slowly, lingering a bit more, savoring the other's touch before they actually do. Harry clears his throat and manages a soft smile at her. She reaches up and touches his face. "Oh, God," she says suddenly. She snatches her hand away.

"What? What is it?" He says with some alarm.

She looks down at her dirty hands, the dirt encrusted under her nails. "I'm so filthy."

He takes her hand back and holds it against his heart. "You're beautiful, Ruth."

She smiles shyly. Then she takes a deep breath. "Harry—"

"Ruth. You need to—"

"I know. I know." She nods at him. "I'll check myself back in hospital. I promise. But first I need to.."

"Yes? What is it?" Unconsciously, he looks out into the darkness towards the direction of Athena's house.

She follows his troubled gaze." No. Not there." She sighs. " I ...Thank God you..." She touches his arm lightly. "I wasn't ...I don't know what I was thinking." She sighs. "It's just so hard."

"You'll see him soon. I promise." He says in as gentle a voice she has ever heard him use.

"When I get myself...sorted out." She sighs again.

"First things first, Ruth. Let me bring you to a local hospital. From there you can... "

"I know. I _will_. But I'm so filthy. I need a bath. And to get out of these clothes."

"You need to be back in hospital. You know that, don't you?"

Her answer seems to take forever, but in reality, it comes just a few seconds later. "I promise you, I will. Just like when you gave me your word. But I can't seem to think straight being so ...unkempt. I know it might seem silly to you. But I just cannot bear to be like this anymore. And if I'm to be in hospital, ..I just need... I just need to wash up. Rest for a while. Then I promise, I'll do whatever they say. I promise, Harry," she says again."I give you my word."

He searches her face for a long moment. Then gently taking her arm he says, "Come with me."

* * *

"Melia's left you some clothes, Ruth. And some grapes and cheese. And tea," he adds. He speaks through the closed bathroom door, holding a tray and some clothes draped over his arm. He places the tray on the dresser and the clothes on the bed. When's she doesn't answer, he goes over to the door again. "Ruth?" Before he can knock, the door cracks open, the steam escaping.

She emerges, hair wrapped in a white towel, her body wrapped in a large Turkish white towel as well. She's smiling.

He tries not to smile too much, but he's finding it difficult. Just seeing her there, whole, in front of him seems unreal, like an illusion.

"What?" She says, becoming self-conscious. She looks down at the bed. "Melia's?" She handles the clothes on the bed.

"Yes. It appears that she cannot do enough for...Mrs. Graham."

"Mrs. Graham," Ruth says, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Well, I …"

"It's fine, Harry... Henry." She says with a flash of the old Ruth returning, her dimples showing. Then before he can say anything, she picks up the skirt and top and holds them close to her.

"I'll give you some privacy," he says, and turns from her, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"How is she, Henry?" Melia asks, standing in her kitchen.

"Much better. Thank you very much. You're very kind. We both want you to know that."

"Not at all." She shakes her head. "I am so sorry that this happened to her. Here on our island."

"It happens all over, unfortunately. "

"Yes. But to be robbed and left on the mountain. With nothing." Her dark eyes harden. "I hope the police catch him and give him what he deserves."

"They will. I'm sure," Harry says in an expressionless voice.

"It is such a good thing that you were out and saw her. Yes?" Melia says.

He nods. "Yes."

"And she is safe, Henry. She is here, now. And I hope her surprise visit will still be a lovely surprise for you."

He nods silently.

"And I truly hope this has not spoiled our island for you and your wife and of course, your plans for your future."

"Of course not," Harry says. "She is, as you say, fine. And that's all that matters. Thank you again for your kindness."

She waves her hand. " Please. It is nothing." She pauses. "Well, I will leave you two. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you and your wife."

"I will. Thank you."

She turns to leave then turns back again. "She is very beautiful, you know. "

Harry's smile lights up his face. "I know."

When Melia leaves, Harry realises that for the past hour or so, he's been smiling more than he can ever remember doing so. _And why not?_ Ruth is safe, here with him; their conversation cathartic, and not just for her: He's never discussed his relationship with his son with anyone, not even with Catherine. Not like that. Never like...that.

He goes outside, looking up at the night sky, the stars so very bright, the groves fading into the night. He replays the talk Ruth and he had about Nico and Graham. How she felt in his arms. How he felt when she held him. How he felt when he cried in her arms. He knows how much they need one another. But he still has no idea what the future holds for either of them. He knows one thing, though: she is not out of the woods yet even though she seems so much like the Ruth he knows and remembers. He'd also like a drink right now. A stiff one. But he needs to stay focused and to keep in mind that too much has happened to her for him to let down his guard. He shivers just a bit: there's a chill in the air. He heads back to the house.


	24. Chapter 24

_R/H? You bet. :)_

Expiation Chapter 24:

Part III: Reconciliation

He is steps away from Melia's villa when his mobile rings.

"Great." He says under his breath, reading the display. He walks a bit away from the house and flips his phone open. "Home Secretary."

"Where the hell are you?"

"I'm…just a phone call way, Home Secretary."

"Don't give me that, _Sir_ Harry. It's bad enough that your officers are being evasive, too. But the truth is I don't give a rat's arse _where_ you are. Just be in my office within the hour."

Something about the way the HS always seems to say 'Sir Harry' especially coupled with what usually comes after, never fails to rankle him. But as usual, Harry responds politely. "I'm sorry, Home Secretary. I'm afraid that will be impossible since I'm out of the country." He adds quickly. "I do intend, however, to return in the next day or so."

"Nice of you to do so," The HS replies caustically before going on. "Do you know where your junior officer is?"

"I know she is on her way home," he says. "I have, Home Secretary, stayed on top of the situation."

"Hardly. Because if you had, you would know that she's dragging her feet and still in Beijing."

"She's upset." Harry says, hiding his surprise. "Kai was a personal friend of hers."

"I don't care if they were conjoined twins at birth. What the hell is she doing? Are you or are you not in control of your officers?" Before Harry can say anything, he goes on. "She is to be on that plane –the very next plane- heading back here, or I'll see that neither of you work for Her Majesty's Secret Service ever again. Is that clear, Sir Harry?"

At this point, Harry is certain the HS knows how much he dislikes being called by his title. But he grits his teeth and only says, "Crystal Clear, Home Secretary."

"See that it is." The HS says, hanging up.

Harry runs his hand through his hair. _Bollocks._

"What is it?"

He looks up at the sound of her voice. She's standing in the arched doorway wearing a long flowing skirt, a thin top, and a shawl on her shoulders. She takes a few steps towards him.

"Ruth. You are supposed to be resting, not walking around." He closes the distance between them in seconds. "And it's getting cold out here."

She pulls the shawl in towards her a bit. "What's happened?"

He sighs. "Come inside," he says. In moments they enter the house. With his hand on the small of her back, he leads her though the house and to the bedroom. After he shuts the door, he motions for her to sit on the bed.

She does. Briefly, he brings her up to date on Beth and Kai. But he leaves out the part of the Home Secretary's insistence in meeting him in the next day or so.

"God, Harry, what a mess. You need to go back home as soon as possible. This will turn into a major diplo-"

"Ruth."

"But Harry…"

He suppresses a sigh. "I'm not leaving you here in Crete. Alone."

"Then take me back home. I can help—"

"You are off the Grid. Remember?"

She stares up at him, her eyes large and silent.

"I'm sorry." He says more gently. "But you _are_ on medical leave."

She nods. "All right. But I can still work from –"

"No. You have two choices: you rest for a while and then go to a hospital. Or, go to a hospital. Now. Which will it be, Ruth?"

"But Harry…"

"You gave me your word." He says, staring down at her.

She twists her hands a bit." "I… only want to help…I feel guilty enough—"

"There has been entirely too much talk about guilt for one night, don't you think?"

At the look on her face, all the starch goes out of him. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I just want you to be taken care of."

"I'll be ok."

"Ruth." He sits down next to her. "You need rest. Or better still, sleep. And when you wake, we'll go and have you checked out. Then we'll take it from there." He pauses. "Frankly, I'm already beginning to regret bringing you back here. It's really against my better judgement, but you—"

"Would it better for you if we go to the hospital now?"

"I do want you to be checked out as soon as possible. For your sake, not mine. But," he adds," if you feel you need to rest for a while, I guess—I hope," he says, "it won't impinge upon your health in the long run."

She looks at the bed. "I do need to sleep." she says. "I haven't really slept in a while."

He nods. "You're exhausted."

She looks up at him again. "But you're risking..."

This time he does sigh. "Each of us has a job to do. You need to take care of yourself. Get off your feet. Rest. And I'll take care of business on this end." _And take care of you_. But he only touches his pocket with the mobile again and waits for her answer.

"All right." She says in little more than a whisper.

Getting up from the bed, he motions for her to do the same. When she does, he pulls down the cover and sheet.

She looks at his hand holding the covers for her.

"Go on." He says.

She removes her shawl and places it on the bed. Then she slips between the sheets.

He draws the covers around her. "Get some sleep, Ruth."

Her eyes follow him as he leaves the room. When the door closes, so do her eyes. In minutes, she is fast asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

_H/R? Oh, yes._

:)

Reconciliation: Chapter 25

After he shuts the bedroom door, he makes his way back outside, stepping into the night. He flips open his mobile and makes his first call.

"I don't want to decommission you, Beth," he says, "but make no mistake, I will if I have to. You have 24 hours to be back on the Grid. Not a minute more. Or you will be out of a job." He leaves out the part about his own job being in jeopardy if she fails to do so.

There's a long silence on the other end.

"Again, I'm sorry about what happened." He goes on. "But staying there is not going to bring him back. It will, however, cost you your job. To say nothing of adding fuel to the situation, both internationally and internally. I don't think," he adds more gently, "this is what Kai would have wanted in any way, do you?"

"Somehow," she says quietly, "I feel it's my fault. That I could have..."

"There is nothing further you could have done. You tried. And I know you don't want to hear this, Beth, but it is commendable that you tried."

"Commendable? I _failed."_

"But you _did _try. You did all that you could."

"If that were true, I would have saved him."

"He made his own decision. True, not the one you—we—had all hoped for. But his and his alone." He pauses before going on. "And now I need you back here. To be briefed. And to speak the truth—for Kai."

"Beth?"

"I'm on my way," she finally says.

After he ends the call, he looks towards the house. _Commendable? _He chides himself for his insensitivity. How would he have liked if he had failed with Ruth and someone said_ commendable__?_ He sighs out loud. The Service, he knows, asks much of his officers. At times too much. From all of them. He sighs again.

This is getting him nowhere, and he knows it. Expertly, he flips his mobile open.

"Harry," Dimitri answers immediately. "How's Ruth?"

"She's resting now. And after she's properly checked out, I expect to be back in the next day or so. In the meantime, I've spoken to Beth who assures me that's she's returning on the next plane. You, in turn, need to assure me that she is. I want her briefed as well when she does so. Last, if the Home Secretary wishes to see her before I get back, which is a distinct possibility, go with her. She needs support. Kai might not be the only victim in this debacle. It isn't only the Chinese who want to exploit this, I'm afraid."

"Politics." Dimitri says.

_Yes. Bloody politics_. But he says only. "She could use a friend as well."

"I understand, Harry."

"Good." He clears his throat before going on. "Another thing. I want you to get in touch with a Captain Stefanos. He runs a tug, the _Argos, _between the islands. As you now know, Ruth hitched a ride with him this morning. Find out who was on that run from Cyprus to Crete. We're looking for an American, a young man, late 20's, average build with light eyes and brown hair who goes by the name of Steve. Probably an alias. I want him. " He pauses. "And one other thing. Tell Stefanos that it's for… Jo. "

"Jo?"

"Ruth's alias on the _Argos_._"_

"Ok. But what did this guy do?"

"I'll let you know. After you find him." He says grimly.

He hangs up soon after and finally makes his way back inside. The house is quiet, Melia and her husband Petros most likely asleep. Taking a glance down the hall where her room is, he hopes that Ruth is asleep as well.

He yawns. He could do with some shut-eye. But there's the question of where he should sleep. Or even if he should. Plus, if Melia or Petros should find him sleeping on the couch while Ruth is in the bedroom, it will at best, appear odd. On the other hand, Harry reckons, he can just say that he didn't want to disturb his wife. _His wife._ Unconsciously, his face becomes softer, making him look years younger.

He pauses for a moment. Then he settles into the easy chair next to the couch, putting his feet up on the footstool there. His eyes close. _Just for a few minutes_. He thinks. _Just for a few minutes.

* * *

_

He knows there's a hand on his shoulder. But it's her unmistakable voice which pulls him out of his deep sleep.

"Harry?"

He opens his eyes. In the dim light, he can make out her form standing in front of him.

"What?" He says, then clears his throat. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't answer right away. "What is it?" He says, rising from the chair. "Are you all right?" He asks again, peering at her in the in the dark.

"Harry," she whispers. " It's ok. It's just that it's morning, and I wondered where you were."

Harry looks around incredulously. "Morning?" He looks out towards the window and sees it's true. A fine edge of light is creeping over the horizon.

"Nearly," she says and smiles.

"How are you?" He says again, searching her face. "Really?"

"Better. I slept. But you ..."

"Good. That's good—"

"-You spent the night out here." She finishes.

He drinks her in. She's wearing the same outfit he last saw her in and presumably slept in. Her hair is loose and messy. And she's wrapped back in the shawl. He thinks she's never looked more beautiful. Then he realizes that she's talking to him, and he focuses on what she is saying.

"You need to get some rest, too, you know. Proper rest."

"I'm fine." He says.

"You could have …." She turns her head fractionally towards the bedroom.

"What?"

But she says nothing else.

Neither of them speak for a moment. Then he says, "What time is it? Actually?" He looks down at his watch on his wrist.

"It's time, Harry, for you to bring me to the hospital."


	26. Chapter 26

_H/R of course! But….there's also _some_…. Ang-t. Oh, dear. (please don't blame me: the muses made me do it!)_

Chapter 26: Reconciliation

While Ruth waits for Harry in the car, he makes a quick run to the bathroom. When he comes out, he sees the tray of food from last night still on the dresser in the bedroom. He brings it to the kitchen and places it on the counter, his hand hovering above the untouched food. Then he drops his hand to his side. When he gets in the car a few moments later, he starts it up without saying a word.

"Where are we going, Harry?"

"I thought that was obvious, Ruth." He says, turning the car around on the driveway, pebbles scattering under the wheels.

She turns her head at him, a puzzled look on her face. "Is there—"

"Ruth," he says, glancing her way, "you ate virtually nothing last night."

"I …"

"You have to eat."

"I was more tired than hungry. It's fine."

"We'll see." He says and presses his foot onto the accelerator. He feels her eyes on him, and he lifts his foot off the pedal. "I'm sorry. It's just that—"

A motorbike approaches them from the other direction. As it draws near, Harry slows down even more and practically glares at the bewildered young man who soon passes them on his bike.

"It's not him," she says, softly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Harry. I think I know what he looks like."

"Think?"

She pauses before speaking. "I don't seem to remember you being...so...out of sorts in the morning."

He picks his foot off the gas. "I'm sorry. Again. But when I think of—"

"It's ok."

"It most certainly is not." The car picks up speed as he presses his foot onto the pedal again.

"Harry." She says, placing a hand on his arm. "Please slow down. "

He complies, his foot not quite so heavy on the accelerator. "When I find the bas-"

"Please, Harry. Just let the local authorities do their job. They have my description of him."

He doesn't respond, but does ease his foot off the pedal just a bit more. Her hand still on his arm, they continue that way all the way down the winding road.

* * *

According to Tariq, the best hospital in the area is not too far away, just one town over. The young techno whiz contacted McBride who in turn sent over Ruth's records with one crucial change: her true identity at Harry's behest. McBride was also duly reminded of the Official Secrets Act which he had signed just a few days ago. Finally, Tariq set them up with Dr. Polo Frangopoulos, a specialist and a highly recommended one, as well.

When they do arrive at the hospital, the staff is ready for her, another perk set up by Tariq. The kid, Harry thinks, might not be Malcolm, but he does show real promise. _Hard worker, too_. His mind leaps from Tariq to another talented young man who unlike Tariq, is lost and without direction. He sighs.

He glances down at his watch. 45 minutes and counting. And no sight of her. But when he approaches the desk again, he sees Frangopoulos coming down the corridor.

"How is she?"

"We're admitting her," the specialist says in perfect English.

His stomach lurches. "She's -"

"It's standard procedure, Mr. Graham."

Harry manages a nod. "But how is she?"

"According to her records, and my consult with Dr. McBride, nothing much has changed since she left St. Charles. She is dehydrated, but not markedly so. Still, her electrolyte level is not what it should be. I also suspect, as does Dr. McBride, that she has an eating disorder."

Harry realizes his mouth is hanging open. He shuts it.

"I know it's shocking." Frangopoulos says, looking at Harry. "But often, even family members do not know that their loved ones have an eating disorder. Still," he adds, "as complex a disease as it is, with proper treatment, it is manageable."

Harry swallows. "Manageable?"

"Yes. As I said, it is a complex disease for a myriad of reasons, often psychological and biological. If she is to overcome it, she will need professional treatment. But, again, it is treatable."

"She eats little to nothing," Harry blurts out. "I should have—"

"Do not blame yourself. Mr. Graham. Your wife needs your support, not your guilt."

Harry looks at Frangopoulos sharply before forcing his attention back on what the doctor is saying.

"When we stabilize her, you can bring her back home, or she can continue to address her eating disorder here. That of course is a decision both of you need to make. But let us do some more tests, first."

"Is she in any immediate danger?"

Frangopoulos hesitates. "An imbalance in electrolytes is serious. But," he says, nodding, "she is exactly where she needs to be. And this is an excellent hospital. One of the best on Crete," he adds with unmistakable pride. "I do want to take another EKG, however. There is some concern as well that she might have an arrhythmia."

"Her heart?" He asks, his own beginning to beat erratically.

"Electrolyte problems can lead to cardiac problems. That is why she is wearing a heart monitor."

Harry pales. "So you think...?"

"At this point, it is a precaution. Right now, nothing looks untoward. But we want to rule out any problems, especially given what she has told us."

"What did she ...tell you, exactly?"

"She said that at times, she felt her heart was racing."

Harry's eyes open even wider.

"Maybe you should sit down, Mr. Graham."

"I'm fine. When can I see her?"

"In a few minutes. But please. Try to reassure her. Keep her calm. And I do not think she is in immediate danger. Still, it is very good that you brought her in. It was truly unwise that she checked herself out of the hospital in your country." He shrugs. "But she is here now, and we are optimistic that she will get the care she needs."

Harry nods. "I want to see her."

Frangopoulos looks away and smiles.

Ruth is being wheeled towards them in a pushchair, an assortment of wires and IV's snaking out around her. As the distance closes, she looks up at Harry and smiles ruefully.

"How are you?" He asks trying not to stare at the wires and tubing.

"I'm ok, Harry. Don't worry."

_Don't worry?_ "I'm not." He says and smiles. "You're in good hands."

"Let's get you into a room, shall we?" Frangopoulos says.

* * *

"Harry? How's Ruth?"

"She's actually asleep right now." Harry says softly into his mobile, standing right outside of her room.

When Harry adds nothing else, Dimitri says, "We have him."

"Who?"

"Steve." The guy you wanted us to—"

"Where is he?"

"With Stefanos, the captain. When he found out it was for Jo—"

—"Where?"

"On his tug, the _Argos."_

"Give me everything you've got."


	27. Chapter 27

**_H/R. Yes. And I hope you enjoy what the muses sent today! :) _**

**_(Warning: Some profane language) _**

Chapter 27: Reconciliation

_Steven Jay Miller; 26; American; Born in Chicago; Truant; High School Drop-out. _Dimitri stops reading for a moment. _  
_

"Steven?" Harry says, still staring down at the photo on his mobile. "That's his real name?"

"Yeah. Not exactly A level material." He goes on. _Petty larceny_. _Disorderly Conduct. Possession. "_Mostly petty stuff," he says, finishing up.

"Petty? Like robbing a woman who is ill and stranding her on a mountain? _That_ kind of petty?"

" I…"

"You say Stefanos has him?"

"Yeah," Dimitri says, glad for the quick change of subject. "After I told Stefanos what was going on, he went looking for Miller and found him, pissed, in a Cyprus bar called _The Raki. _ He actually let slip to Stefanos that he was in a bit of trouble on Crete and needed to stay low until it blew over. Stefanos offered him sanctuary on the _Argos,_ or at least that's what he told Miller."

"Why go after him?"

"The Captain's not happy that one of his own attacked a passenger on his tug. That and I think Ruth must have really impressed him."

"Ruth impresses everyone," he says automatically, surprising both men that he actually said it out loud. "Where's Miller now?" Harry asks.

"It gets better, Harry. The tug's on its way back to Crete with Miller who's sleeping it off. Don't imagine he's going to like it when he wakes up no longer on Cyprus. They should make port in a few hours and when they do, Stefanos will alert the local authorities. But he wants to speak to you before that."

"Good." Harry says. "I need to speak to him, too."

"Does Ruth know yet? That you found him?"

He hesitates before replying. "She'll want to know. And ID the picture, even though there's no doubt we have the prat. But that's as far as she needs to know. She has her own ..issues."

"She ok, Harry? We're all … concerned, you know. It's not the same here without her."

"The doctors are…how do they put it? Cautiously optimistic. She just needs to build up her strength." He says, leaving out her eating disorder and possible heart arrhythmia.

"That's good news, Harry. I'll spread the word. Tell her we're thinking about her, will you?"

"I shall."

"And one more thing," Harry says, switching gears. "Beth?"

"On her way. Confirmed."

"Good. And keep in mind what I told you earlier about her."

"Will do, Harry."

As soon as he ends his call with Dimitri, he rings Stefanos. Their conversation is brief and to the point: Stefanos gives Harry an ETA for the _Argos._ Harry, in turn, promises him he will be there waiting for him.

* * *

"_Efkharistó,_" he hears Ruth say to the nurse as she replaces a pitcher of water on the little hospital tray.

_"Parakaló_," the nurse replies smiling broadly at Ruth.

"Ah." Harry says after the nurse leaves. "If I harbored any doubts as to the dunce I might be, I no longer do. It's official."

"Nonsense, Harry." Ruth says, sitting up a bit more. "You're the smartest man I know."

He shakes his head but has a hard time hiding his smile. "You feel better, don't you?" He asks, taking note of her improved color and general demeanour.

She nods. "I do."

They look at one another, exchanging smiles. Then he flips open his mobile, turning serious.

"What is it?"

"It's fine, Ruth. You're not to worry," he says gently. "But I know you'd want to know." He glances down at his mobile in his hand then looks up at her again. "We found this...Steve. No question about it. But a formal ID by you is in order, I suppose. Are you up to this?" He asks, keeping the phone angled away from her curious eyes.

"Of course." She says, leaning in to see better.

He tilts the phone towards her.

She stares into it. "Yes."

"You're sure?" He searches her face.

"There is no doubt in my mind that he," and she points to the image, "is the person who robbed me and left me on the mountain."

He snaps the phone shut. "I'll take care of this. Again. You're not to worry at all."

"What do you mean?"

"This Steve and that's his real name by the way, is on his way back from Cyprus and will be handed over to the local authorities here on Crete. Just like you wanted, Ruth."

"Good," she says. "I'm glad. But don't I need to..."

"Just concentrate on getting better." He places his hand on her shoulder.

She looks quizzically at him.

"You're in hospital, Ruth," he says softly. "They can't expect you to make a visit to their headquarters. If they need to, they can come here." He tucks the blanket around her absently as he speaks, his mind on his next course of action.

"_Efkharistó."_

"What?"

"_Thank you_. In Greek. That's what I was saying to the nurse when you walked in_. E…__Fkhar.." S_he sounds it out slowly, encouraging him to follow.

_"Ef_.." He says, his face looking like he just bit into something sour.

"_E _.." She continues to prompt him, managing to keep a straight face.

"It's hopeless, Ruth." He says, shaking his head. "I _am_ a dunce." But he's smiling broadly.

She smiles back at him. "You'll never convince me of that, you know."

* * *

"Captain Stefanos?" Harry calls out as he steps on the tug.

The tall man at the helm turns around, appraising his visitor. "Mr. Graham?"

"Yes." Harry says. "I understand you have someone here I'd like to see."

"I'm glad that you're here. I'm moments from calling the police. And he knows it." He jerks his chin down below.

At Harry's look, Stefanos adds, "He's not going anywhere. My men have seen to it."

Harry's eyes widen. "Ah."

"We didn't touch him. But he's right where I left him. Below deck."

Harry makes a move to go below, but the captain stays him with his hand. "If I may ask, how is Jo?"

"She's in hospital, actually. " Harry says, his eyes looking into the darkness below.

Stefanos stiffens a bit. "He hurt her?"

Harry looks back at the captain. "Not exactly. She was not well to begin with. But he did leave her on the mountain after he stole her belongings."

"You found her?"

"Yes." He says simply, his face darkening.

"She said she had friends looking out for her." He looks Harry over. "I'm glad she was right."

Harry says nothing but looks Stephanos over as well.

"But she's all right now?"

"I believe so."

"I felt that something was troubling her. But my job is to run this ship, not to pry."

"I understand," Harry says. "But I would like to see him, now. Please."

"See him. Yes. But I must warn you. This is my ship, and I will not tolerate any violence on it. Are we clear, Mr. Graham?"

"Of course," Harry says, showing his hands. "No weapons. I'm not a violent man. In fact," he says, "you can search me if you like. I just want the satisfaction of telling the bastard what I think of him."

"Go ahead. I have already done so."

Harry nods.

Stefanos takes Harry below. Miller is sitting in the corner on an overturned crate, his hands gaffer-taped in front of him. Two burly members of Stephanos' crew stand guard on either side of him.

As Harry walks over to him, the men step back a bit, giving Harry some room. "Stand up when I speak to you." Harry says to Miller.

Miller continues sitting down, a smirk on his face. In seconds, Stefanos hauls him up."Go ahead," Stephanos says to Harry.

Harry moves in close. "I'm going to make this short and use your own language so there's no mistake about its meaning." He takes a breath and leans in even closer. "Asshole."

Miller blinks then rolls his eyes. Stefanos looks surprised then shrugs. The two men catch their captain's eye, as if to say_, is that it? _ When they do, Harry takes his chance.

Putting his full weight into it, he delivers a powerful short-straight-punch right into Miller's belly. The young man doubles over, nearly passing out from both the pain and the rapid expulsion of air.

"That," Harry says sotto voce, "is for Jo."

Stefanos and the men take in Miller, trying to suck in oxygen but having a tough time of it. Then they take in Harry, rapidly reassessing him. Next, the men turn to one another and begin to murmur, heads nodding. But the captain only stares at Harry who's looking at Miller, still doubled over. "Poor lad." Harry says in a sympathetic voice as he makes his way topside. "Perhaps he drank too much ouzo?"

The crew snicker but Stephanos narrows his eyes.

"Oh." Harry calls down from above. "Jo says _Efkharistó." _His pronunciation is perfect.


	28. Chapter 28

_H/R: YES. __:)  
_

_Efkharistó_** for the lovely feedback! :) And please: feel free to_ also_ criticize/offer suggestions as well! I value your opinion(s)!  
**

**(And a special welcome to those who are reading but too "shy" to leave feedback. I truly hope you're enjoying the story!) **

_Reconciliation: chapter 28 (28? Impossible! How can that be?_) :)

When Harry returns from the _Argos_, Ruth is not in her room. He heads immediately to the front desk. "Excuse me," he says. "I'm looking for …Mrs. Graham?"

The health care worker behind the desk simply stares back at him. She shakes her head. Gripping the edge of the desk, he says again, "Mrs. Graham? Where is she?" But the woman only looks at him and continues to shake her head.

"Mr. Graham," the head nurse says as she rounds the corner, holding a stack of medical records in her arms. "Sorry. I stepped away for a minute." She gestures with her chin to the other woman. "She doesn't speak English."

"Mrs. Graham?" Harry says, forcing the air out of his lungs. "She's not in her room."

"Oh. They took her for a test. She'll be back soon."

He sucks in some more air. "What kind of test?"

"I believe... One minute." And she goes behind the desk, dropping the records on top of it. She reaches over and flips through another stack of charts nearby. "Yes. A CT for her heart." She says, looking up at him. "Just routine. Why don't you wait in her room?"

_ Just Routine. _ But he only nods and turns to leave. Then he stops again. "How is she? Really?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected," comes the formulaic response. But she humanizes it by smiling warmly at him.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. He heads back to her room and sinks down gratefully into the chair there. He sighs just bit. And for the first time he really takes note of his surroundings. It's a nice size room, made bigger by a large window, the sun pouring in, and best of all, only one patient in it—Ruth. He doesn't know if this is the standard for this hospital or for the island itself; he suspects Tariq's hand in it especially as he and Ruth are simply an ordinary married couple while she is in hospital. _Ordinary._ _Married. Couple. _It's his last coherent thought as he drifts off.

* * *

"_Efkharistó_." Ruth says in a low voice.

Harry's eyes open. Ruth is sitting in bed and adjusting the covers around her, a nurse just leaving the room.

"Hi." He says, trying to bring her into focus.

"Oh," she says looking over to him. "I'm sorry we woke you. I was trying to be quiet."

"I'm sorry I drifted off." He says, getting up and walking over to her. "How was your test? Did they.."

"They''ll let me know. But no one seems unduly concerned. So, I'm being optimistic."

"Good, " he says, standing at her bedside. He stifles a yawn.

"In fact, _Mr._ _Graham__," _she says, smiling, "I think I'm doing better than you are. You need proper sleep."

"I'm fine... _Mrs_. _Graham_." He attempts a smile but it turns into another yawn.

She shakes her head. "For God's sake, Harry. Sit down before you fall down."

His eyes flit over to the chair.

"No. Here. I want to talk to you." She pats the bed. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then sits down, close enough to touch her hand.

"What is it?" He asks.

"I'm getting better. I _am._ But you're … I can't concentrate on getting better if I'm …worrying about you."

"Ruth." He says softly, shaking his head at her. "I'm fine."

"You should go back to the house and get some sleep there. Real sleep."

"Melia thinks we're on a mini-trip. Remember?"

"Oh. I'm sure that you can think of something. You're quite clever that way. _Remember_?" She says, mimicking him, her deep dimples showing.

He shakes his head again as he smiles at her. "You're really feeling better, aren't you? You look better," he adds with an obvious note of delight. "Your color is back and your eyes. Well. They look. .Good."

_"Good?_" She says, still smiling.

For an instant, the years drop away from his face. "Yes. Good." He repeats. Each continues to smile at the other. His hand creeps over to hers, just mere inches away.

"I.." they both say at the same time. Then stop.

Frangopoulos is standing in the doorway, a sheet of paper in his hand.

He smiles at the couple on the bed, their eyes locked on one another, the man's hand nearly touching hers. "Sorry," he says and means it. "I didn't mean to ...interrupt. But I have your CT back and your blood work."

Both Harry and Ruth turn their attention on him. The doctor nods. "It's good. Your electrolytes are better, and the CT is normal. I'm very pleased."

"That's good. " Harry and Ruth say simultaneously each with big smiles on their faces. Ruth turns to Frangopoulos. "When can I go home?"

"Jo." Harry says to Ruth. Then he looks at the doctor. "It's much too soon. Right?"

"Actually," Frangopoulos says, "perhaps not too soon at all." And he smiles again. "In fact, Mrs. Graham, you're making excellent progress. And if you continue to improve the way you have, you may be able to be released within a few days. Of course," he adds, "you will need follow–up care."

Harry narrows his eyes at the doctor.

"That's wonderful." Ruth says looking at him. "Isn't it... Henry?"

"Why the rush?" he says. Unconsciously, he crosses his arms in front of him.

"We would not consider releasing your wife unless it appropriate, Mr., Graham. I assure you."

"Of course," Ruth says still looking at Harry.

In the silence, Frangopoulos asks. "Mr. Graham. Please. If you have any specific concerns, I'd like you to address them."

Harry uncrosses his arms. "I say again, why the rush to release her?"

"On the contrary, there is no, as you say, rush. But she is making excellent progress and as such, patients often improve even more once home. Again," he says to Ruth, "you will need to continue to see someone...about your nutritional needs. And I think," Frangopoulos says in the silence, " I will leave you two to discuss the matter. But I hope you are pleased. We are."

"Thank you, Doctor." Ruth says.

"Ruth." He says, as soon as Frangopoulos leaves. "I think this is much too soon."

"Harry, I'd thought you'd be … " She touches his arm. "Pleased."

"I am. Of course I am. I'm delighted. But.."

"I'll make a deal with you." She says.

He leans in even closer. He can smell her freshly washed hair. _Coconut? Almond?_ No_. Vanilla._

"You are to get some proper rest." She says, breaking into his thoughts." And I will continue to get better. Really get better. And," she adds, "after you do rest, I need to discuss something with you as well."

"What is it?"

"Do you promise to get some real sleep?"

"Ruth. Don't tease. It isn't like you to do so."

"I'm not, Harry. It's just that it's..." She looks away.

He places his hand over hers. " Ruth. You can tell me...anything."

She looks down at his hand on hers, then raises her eyes to his. "All right." She begins to speak.


	29. Chapter 29

_Words are all we have_

- Samuel Beckett

_And I suppose I should thank Kudos once more, too. But what follows this disclaimer (save HR/spooks) is mine. And what great fun it's been sharing it with you! In fact, it wouldn't have been half the fun if not for you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart._

**Reconciliation 29**

"I know you've read my journal," she says.

He goes very still, his hand resting on top of hers.

"And I know why." She says into the silence. "It's really all right, Harry. I'm actually glad that you did. Now." She adds. "Then I was livid. And mortified."

He says nothing, his eyes riveted on her face. But he begins to stroke her hand.

"I said a lot of things in it." She looks away for a moment. "I was in a very bad place, Harry. But," and she looks back up at him, "I'm better now." She smiles gently. "Because of you. Because you read it. Because you didn't give up on me. And maybe," she shrugs a bit, "maybe I wanted you to read it although I would have denied it emphatically at the time."

"It's over, Ruth. The past." He says, still stroking her hand, still staring at her.

She shakes her head. "But you see, that's just it. It is the past that I must put to rest if I am to have a future. A real future."

"But you're getting better." He says softly. "You are."

She takes a shaky breath. "I'm_ trying_ to get better. But I still have some...issues. Serious ones. And as much as I want to, it's not enough."

"I don't understand. What isn't enough? "

She sighs. "I can't just _want_ to get better. I have to work at it. too. And for that, I need to make some changes in my life. So I can have the life that I want. "

"What kind of changes?" His eyes turn dark, and his hand rests on hers once again.

"My life. Back home. Here. In Greece. Nico. And …of course, George. I still feel that it's my fault."

"Ruth."

"Please. Let me finish. I know intellectually, perhaps, it's not. That there are other factors." She shakes her head.

"It isn't your fault. It isn't," he says, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "You must believe that."

"I'm trying, Harry, I'm_ trying_. And in fact, that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. I need to_ believe_ it. Because just saying it doesn't make it real for me." She takes a breath. "This became clear to me when..." She pauses then goes on. "Today, while you were gone, I not only had a CT, I also saw a psychiatrist. And a nutritionist...a specialist in…eating disorders." She takes another breath. "I like them. Both. Very much."

"That's good. Right?" And he begins to pat her hand.

She nods. "Yes. And I want to continue seeing them."

"Good." He says, nodding back. "Good."

"But I want to see them here. Because it is here I need to be."

"Yes. In hospital." I understand," he says.

"No, Harry." She says softly. "I can see that you don't. And I understand why. It was only after I spoke to the psychiatrist that _I_ could see. Really see." And she adds as gently as she can, "Harry, I need to stay here. In Greece. On Crete. It's here that I need to be. To heal. I like the people. The culture. And it is here that I need to put back the pieces. So that I _can_ go on."

He clears his throat. "For how long, Ruth?"

"I don't know," she says. "It all depends. I just don't know."

He feels the blood drain out of him as the full implication begins to hit him.

" I….need to get on with my life," she says so softly that he has to strain to hear her. "And you need… to get on with yours."

"Ruth." He says, looking suddenly years older. "I thought that we…"

"Yes. We." She nod and smiles. "Don't you understand that I am giving us a chance, a real chance, even if you think it a strange way of doing so?"

"I don't understand." He says his voice barely recognizable. "You want me to… leave? " He says the last in little more than a whisper.

"Because I want us to be together. Really together."

"You're not making any sense." He says, louder, much louder. And he hears the petulance in his voice. And he finds that he doesn't give a damn how he sounds.

"I am making sense. The most I have. In a long time."

"You said—"

"Do you trust me? Do you?"

"This had nothing to do with trust." He says, taking his hand off of hers. But she grabs it back.

"This has _everything_ to do with trust," she says, still holding on to his hand with every bit of strength she has. "Because if you do, and I hope that you do, you must leave. Trust me that I will continue to take care of myself here. We can speak on the phone, email. Write letters. Real letters. I love letters, don't you? "

"Letters? He says dumbly. "You want to write letters?"

"And then after I have worked out what I need to," she says, ignoring the tone in his voice, "I am an analyst after all...then, after…we can see about us."

"Us? What kind of us? You here and me…thousands of miles apart?"

"Not thousands. More like 1600 or so." She says, a sad smile on her face.

"It might as well be thousands. Millions." He turns his face from her.

"Oh, Harry." She shakes her head. It's not that far." She sighs. "There is one thing that I know to be constant. True in my journal. I meant everything I wrote in it about you. If you trust me, Harry. If you ….feel the same about me that I feel about you, then we have to do it this way. And the physical distance won't matter. Can't you see that?"

He looks back at her. "All I can see is an ocean between us. Besides," he says suddenly, "Where will you live? Do?"_ Without me?_ The petulant child returns and takes up residence in his head. _Want Ruth. Now. With me. Now_. He tightens his grip around her hand.

But she goes on talking serenely despite his grip. "I'm not sure. Maybe Melia's for a while. Or maybe you can help me find a place. I like this town. Not too close to Nico, but it will comfort me knowing he's not that far away, either. And when I'm ready, when it's right, I'll contact them. Call them first, and take it from there. You made me see that. Remember, Harry?" She goes on into the heavy silence, ignoring the ache now settling in her hand. "And I like that it's not Polis. Not Cyprus. But that it's still Greece." She starts to talk faster. "I need this. I need to find myself again before there is an us. Can't you see, Harry?"

He blurts out. "But I don't want to leave you. I don't. I need you, Ruth. "And with that, the little boy comes out kicking and flailing. "And you need to be with me. Not here. Alone. And me over there. Alone." He shakes his head. "I won't have it. I just won't." And he pulls her hand close to his heart. "I can handle your not being at work, but not here. So far away. From me. I need to end the day with you. To have you next to me. With me." His voice drops. "I need you. Ruth. That's why you can't leave me. We belong ..."

"Oh, Harry," she says, her voice exceedingly gentle, "Can't you see? I'm not leaving you. I want us to be together. But I want it to be right. And I need to be whole before that happens. Don't you want that for me?"

"Of course I do. But you can do that at home." _With me_, the little boy adds, not mollified at all, now pressing her hand to his heart.

Her eyes begin to fill. "Harry. Please. I'm taking your advice. I need you to let me do so. Help me to do the right thing."

"Advice? I never said anything about leaving—"

'"Each of us has a job to do.'" She quotes him. "You told me that mine was to get better. And you also said that I should let you do your job. Well, that is what I am doing, Harry."

"But my job is to take care of you. _With_ you. Not miles apart."

"Your job is to trust me." She says looking into his eyes. "Trust me. Trust me that I will take care of myself. Heal. Become whole. Please." She whispers the last. "Help me. So there can be an _us_."

"But we'll be apart." He says.

She smiles brilliantly. "Harry. You will always be with me. Here. No matter the distance." And she tugs his hand away from his heart and places it over hers.

He can feel her heart beating under his hand. He is sure she can hear the thudding in his own chest, too, so loudly is it beating. But all he can do is stare at her. Her crystal clear eyes, beseech him, speak to him, and will him to understand, to know, to see, to feel what it is she feels in her own heart, his hand still over it.

After an eternity, it seems, he slowly nods. She nods back. And at last, their arms reach for one another.

-The end-

* * *

But wait! There's a sequel in the works!

Please look for KARDIA MOU (my little heart) to be posted very soon. Again, many, many thanks for your interest and feedback. I couldn't have written this without you!


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